


Oh, to be (Free and Lonely)

by TheSpearDanes



Series: "Oh..." [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 114,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpearDanes/pseuds/TheSpearDanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> The majority of fic about Talex generally depicts Alex never staying for Tobin.  
> I find the following scenario to be much more likely. 
> 
> The entirety of this work is pure fiction. The Alex and Tobin within this story are figments of imagination.  
> With that in mind, read and enjoy, and leave the real life athletes alone.

_Oh, to be (Free and Lonely)_

  
_She never stays._

  
            A Talex Story

                 - - -

  
    If Alex Morgan knows anything, she knows that it isn’t suppose to turn out like this.

  
    The bed isn’t suppose to be cold, the sheets still tucked and the pillows unmoved.

  
    The door, dark red with the promise of some far off love, isn’t suppose to have slammed shut however many hours ago it was.

  
    She isn’t suppose to have watched her pack her one frayed bag with fast, angry fingers, isn’t suppose to have listened to every step as she had descended the many stairs of the apartment.

  
    The window isn’t suppose to be foggy while she watches her figure wait for a taxi, content to stand under the frosty and drizzling Portland sky rather than spend another second in her presence, no matter how warm it might be.

  
    She isn’t suppose to have _almost_ followed her out the door, isn’t suppose to have _almost_ opened it and chased her down the stairs.

  
    She isn’t suppose to be alone either, but alone is what Alex Morgan is.

  
                    - - -

  
    She’s twenty one and terrified the first time she comes into camp.

  
    She sticks as close to Syd as time allows, clinging to the familiar in hopes of escaping any kind of interaction with the other older, experienced, established players. She doesn’t need to look them in the eye to know what they think of her.

  
    She’s untested, unproven, and worst of all recently injured. Tens of hundreds of players pass through the camps and never find a spot on the roster, and she knows that she is expected to join that collection sooner rather than later.

  
    The thought weakens her more than any partially healed ligament tear ever could.

  
    She isn’t allowed to hide next to Syd for long. The structure of the camps is designed to pull a player from their comfort zone, and it wastes no time with Alex. She’s assigned to a room randomly, as is Syd, and the two in no way coincide.

  
    All Syd gives in response to Alex’s look of panic is a weak shrug of her shoulders as she heads off in the opposite direction.

  
    And so it all begins, with a twenty-one year old out of her element, forlornly making her way to Room 206 by herself, and a soccer ball that very nearly hits her in the head as soon as she opens the door.

  
    The corresponding groans that greet the ball flying past her right ear shock her more than the path of the ball, and her eyes adjust to the darkened room to find two girls looking at her with disappointment.

  
    “Well that’s the game, Kell,” One of them sighs, gesturing wordlessly towards Alex, standing stock still in the doorway, “I guess we just aren’t meant to know,”

  
    “No fair,” The other whines, sending daggers at the girl next to her, “I was going to win! That definitely counts, I was ahead by two,” She states with fire, her nose crinkling in distaste as she stares her down.

  
    “Look I’m sorry Kelley, but it’s only fair,” The other replies, motioning once again towards Alex, until the recently dubbed Kelley eventually gives up on her case with a groan.

  
    “You suck Tobin,” She tells her, giving the girl a light shove as she pushes past Alex to reclaim her soccer ball, “I’m never playing with you again,” She huffs as she kicks the affronting object down the hallway before heading off after it.

  
    The girl referred to as Tobin remains in the room, a giant grin spreading across her face as Kelley admits to the draw. She pushes past Alex to stick her head around the corner of the door, watching Kelley go.

  
    “You’re just mad cause I’m still the champion,” She calls out, humor in her voice before she pulls back into the room.

  
    “You’re not the champion and you know it!” Kelley yells back, and with that Tobin pushes Alex into the room and closes the door behind them before falling into laughter.

  
    “Dude,” She says as soon as the door is closed, a blinding grin on her face, “You just saved my life,” She states happily, and upon conclusion raises her hand in the hopes of a high five.

  
    Alex simply stares at her, lips still parted in quiet shock, until Tobin lowers her hand quickly and bumps it against her own.

  
    “You’re a fist bump person. Got it,” Tobin continues, nodding as though the information is somehow relevant, before she flops onto the bed and stretches out with a loud sigh, and in doing so, allows Alex to fully observe her for the first time.

  
    Dressed in dark Nike shorts and a light blue Carolina hoodie, the brunette is comfortingly ordinary, such to the point that when she directs her wide smile at Alex, she feels at ease smiling back.

  
    The girl’s smile retreats into a smaller smirk, and Alex feels herself heat up as she watches the girl size her up in return, her eyes unabashedly examining her.

  
    “Uh,” She mutters after a moment, prompting the girl’s eyes to return to her own, for her smirk to fall to a small frown of concentration “I’m Alex,” She states somewhat awkwardly, though she does her best to keep the smile on her face.

  
    At her words, the corners of the girl’s lips turn up in careful deliberation.

  
     “You don’t say,” She tells her, an eyebrow raising to accompany her sarcastic tone.

  
    Alex feels herself redden as a result, growing uncertainty and embarrassment settling over her at the statement. Before it can grow any further, however, the girl jumps up from the bed to face her with a lazy smile, her posture relaxed.

  
    “Tobin,” She says calmly, gesturing to herself, “At your service for the next three weeks. I don’t sleep near the windows, like, ever,” She tells her with an important nod.

  
    “Uh, okay,” Alex responds, slightly confused, “Why is that?”

  
    “I might fall out” Tobin deadpans, and Alex very nearly believes her until her face splits back into a smile, her eyes bright as a low chuckle escapes her.

  
    “Dude,” She says with a weary sigh, her head shaking back and forth in mock disappointment, “It’s _cold_ near the windows,” She states brazenly, with a strong emphasis on cold, and with that saunters by her towards the door, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  
    She turns before she leaves the room, a twinkle in her eye as she again looks her up and down, “Really though, I’d get an extra blanket, like, for sure,” She tells her, and with that walks out as calmly as she walks in.

  
    As the door shuts gently in her wake, Alex expects to find herself even more thrown than before.

  
    Instead, she finds herself warm.

  
                    - - -

  
    She learns a lot about Tobin Heath in a very little expanse of time.

  
    “She’s really bad at soccer,” Kelley O’Hara tells her over breakfast, her spoon stabbing into her porridge rather aggressively, “I mean she’s awful. The worst I’ve seen,” She continues, taking a large bite of her breakfast and then nearly spitting it out as Lauren Cheney gives her a sharp elbow to the side.

  
    “Okay, Okay. Sheesh,” Kelley complains, coughing a bit as she swallows, “She’s not that bad, happy Cheney?”

  
    Alex fights back a smile as Lauren rolls her eyes at Kelley before flashing a small smirk in Alex’s direction.

  
    “You won’t have to wait a while to see her in action,” Lauren promises her, “She never lasts very long without a soccer ball.”

  
    True to Lauren’s words, not five minutes later Tobin waltzes into the dining area, Amy Rodriguez at her side and a soccer ball under her arm, which she promptly discards underneath the table as she sits down next to Lauren, flashing Kelley a wicked grin.

  
    “Hey there champ,” She chuckles, a bright twinkle making itself known in the brown of her eyes, “Recovered from yet another failed attempt to dethrone me?”

  
    Kelley simply shovels more porridge into her mouth before sticking her tongue out at Tobin, to which the tanned midfielder just laughs.

  
    She turns then, and in doing so faces Alex, upon which her eyes seemingly brightened in a way that makes Alex smile.

  
    “What up, Lex?” Tobin questions, her tone light and playful.

  
    Alex has never been one for nicknames, but the way the words rolled off of the girl’s tongue just seems right, and she lets it go with a soft smile.

  
    “Hey Tobin,”  She returns, and watches with a quiet satisfaction as the girl beams and promptly digs into Lauren’s porridge without permission, to which the older curly haired midfielder yelps and attempts to fight her off.

  
    It's then that Alex realizes rather quickly that Tobin gets what she wants. Her bed of choice, her victory over Kelley, Cheney’s porridge. The list goes on and on the longer Alex knows her.

  
                    - - -

  
    Despite having claimed the warmest bed, Tobin never sleeps in it.

  
    At first Alex thought that the midfielder was simply late to bed and early to rise. It’s only on the second week of camp when she finds herself unable to sleep that she sits and watches the door with tired eyes, waiting for the tall and tanned girl to make herself known.

  
    She never does, and it’s the first time Alex considers the fact that maybe Tobin actually doesn’t like her. The thought puts a lump in her throat, and suddenly the cold seeping in through the glass hotel window is that much more frigid. She tries to pull the blankets tighter, but it doesn’t help, and she realizes that she should have listened to Tobin all that time ago and gotten an extra from room service.

  
    She debates stealing the blanket of the opposing bed as the night hours turn to morning, and the black sky turns to grey, but in the end simply isn’t brave enough.

  
    She freezes it out by herself, eyes hopefully fixed on the door until her alarm sounds.

  
    She asks Lauren on the bus ride to practice, sliding carefully into the seat before Amy Rodriguez can come to claim it.

  
    “Tobin does whatever,” She had told her, her hands gesturing vaguely in the direction of the midfielder who sits with Kelley, tactfully irritating the girl as Hope Solo looks on with mild interest, “She doesn’t like to sit still, so she roams. She slept half of the night on the floor with Arod and me last night, and the other half with Kelley and Pinoe. Three nights ago she tried to sleep in the pool room, but the hotel staff caught her coming out of the gym after hours,” Lauren laughs, but quickly frowns when Alex doesn’t join her.

  
    “It’s not you, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just how Tobin is. She’s a drifter, there’s no method to her madness,” She tells her reassuringly, and although Alex doesn’t have any reason to, she believes her.

  
    Alex doesn’t know for sure if Lauren talks to Tobin or not, but that night when she comes back from her shower, hair still damp and curled into smaller ringlets, she finds a very tired Tobin Heath stretched across the inner most bed, snoozing away against the pillows, only the very corner of the blanket pulled across the skin of her stomach, revealed by a slightly pushed up tank top.

  
    Alex has no need for an extra blanket that night. The window doesn’t bother her, and the room runs warmer than it has throughout the entire camp.

  
    When she wakes up the following morning, Tobin is long gone.

  
    She smiles anyways, because there is an unmade bed with a Carolina sweatshirt in it that promises a future return.

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex finds Tobin to be quite the troublemaker. It’s an unexpected quality that ends up shining through, but it adds a depth to her character that Alex hadn’t realized to be missing.

  
    At first she only notices the grander gestures. She laughs with everyone else as Kelley angry hops after Tobin, her cleats laced together while she wasn’t looking.

  
    She practically dies when Amy gets pushed head first into the pool, to which Tobin only suggests for her to be more careful, and to watch where she walks.

  
    After a while, however, she starts to take special note of the subtler things. The way the girl forms her sentences and strings her words is beyond interesting to the young striker. Tobin has a certain flow that allows her to get away with the most bizarre of statements, ones that would surely have Alex in isolation if she ever attempted such a feat.

  
    Tobin’s sly as well, something easily unnoticed, except for the times when Alex actually concentrates.

  
    It drives Syd up the wall, especially when she’s trying to speak to Alex and all Alex can do is giggle at the fact that Tobin can eat all of Pinoe’s food in front of her and still convince her that Kelley did it.

  
    After a while Tobin starts to catch on that she’s acquired a fan. It happens when Alex laughs just a little harder than normal as Tobin somehow talks herself into winning a stupid card game—B.S, they call it.

  
    At first she thinks it scares Tobin off, because the midfielder goes dead silent, and her smile falls, as does the warmth inside Alex’s chest.

  
    Then Tobin somehow convinces Pinoe that she has all four Ace’s in the suit, and wins the entire game, much to the anger of Lauren, who had been one card away from an honest win.

  
    While the pair of them argue over the ethics of such a victory, Tobin greets Alex with a wink and a wicked grin the second she dares to look her way.

  
    Alex tries her damned best to ignore the flutters that grow from the warmth in her chest. It doesn’t work, and that smile is the last thing she sees behind closed eyes before she falls asleep.  

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex is finally starting to adjust to practices until Tobin comes and messes it all up.

  
    She’s doing a standard warm up, just juggling the ball around and working on some passes with Syd, when Tobin saunters up with her own ball and a big grin that makes Alex want to roll her eyes.

  
    “Wassup, Striker?” The midfielder sings, far too much excitement in her voice for a six am morning practice.

  
    “What do you want Tobin?” She sighs, knowing the girl well enough to be more cautious of her antics than trusting.

  
    “Amy told me you were hitting the upper corner from thirty. I wanted to see if that was true,” The brown haired girl tells her, honesty in her voice but a small smirk on her lips.

  
    “So what if it is?” She shoots back, her brow quirking in a calm challenge.

  
    Tobin simply rolls her eyes, unimpressed with her display.

  
    “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Striker,” She states with as much bravado as she can muster—which admittedly, is quite a lot, “I bet I can hit it from forty.”

  
    Needless to say, Tobin finds out very quickly that she _can't_ hit the upper corner from forty. What she _can_ hit, however, is a very disgruntled Abby Wambach, upon which she immediately points to Alex as the source of the strike.

  
    Alex chases her around for a good five minutes, cursing her, until the coaches yell at them for horsing around.

  
    They stop immediately, though not before Tobin moves by Alex’s ear and hums thoughtfully.

  
    “You know what, babe?” Tobin asks her playfully, mischief thick in the rims of her eyes, a wicked smirk lightening up her features as she drapes an arm about her loosely, to which Alex’s only response is to give her a good shove, “That might not be such a bad one.”

  
    Before Alex is able to inquire on just what Tobin is talking about, the midfielder takes off after Lauren as she races by.

  
    She doesn’t spent much time deliberating. Not ten seconds goes by before Tobin turns, and in a grand gesture, calls out to her.

  
    “Catch you later, Baby Horse.”

  
    The nickname catches on at an alarming rate after she puts forth her most impressive run yet, breaking ankles and busting lungs with her relentless speed and quick stops.

  
    A chorus of “Nice job, Baby Horse!” follows her all the way out of from the practice field and throughout the entire bus ride back to the hotel.

  
    She steals Tobin’s entire dessert that night, and doesn’t feel a bit bad about it.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex gets use to sleeping in the room alone. She debates inviting Syd in, but again her strange cowardice towards anything involving Tobin Heath creeps back into her mind, and so the bed furthest from the window remains unoccupied.

  
    She does muster up the courage to take the blanket, however. She has long since grown tired of shivering halfway through the night, and even though the added warmth almost acts more as a burden than a comfort, she eventually relaxes when Tobin continues to spend her nights elsewhere.

  
    That all changes the last week of camp, when just as Alex is about to drift off, cuddled deep inside her blanket nest, the door clicks open and jolts her wide awake.

  
    Tobin’s silhouette greets her as her tired eyes move to the door, and she watches a bit disoriented as the midfielder walks further into the room, only to stop and stare at her stripped bed.

  
    Alex buries her head deep under the covers, attempting to hide in the hopes that maybe Tobin will disappear.

  
    She doesn’t.

  
    “Aleeeeeeeex,” The girl whines, meandering over towards where the striker pretends to sleep, warm and content, “Alex you took my blanket,” She huffs.

  
    Alex doesn’t open her eyes, if anything she shuts them tighter and wriggles deeper into the depths of her cocoon.

  
    The silence does not put the tanned girl off, and Alex nearly jumps out her skin as long fingers start poking her through the covers.

  
    “Alex it’s cold,” Tobin tries again, and when Alex dares enough to peek up at her, she sees Tobin attempting to give her most pathetic puppy eyes.

  
    It’s a little sickening how quickly it works.

  
    Alex rolls over with a groan, sighing deeply as she moves to give Tobin a fierce glare.

  
    “Go away Tobin,” She hums, raising a pointed brow at the midfielder, “I’m trying to sleep. Go crawl under a gym matt, or whatever it is you do,” She tells her, with sleepy humor in her voice as she watches Tobin’s lips draw together carefully, watches the corner of one lip poke up in a soft smirk.

  
    “Oh, you think you’re a funny girl, don’t you striker?” Her voice is far more gentle than before, carrying a certain affection that has Alex heating up from her place within the blankets.

  
    “Maybe just a little,” She admits cheekily, and with that pulls the covers over her face, completely blocking out the girl in an attempt to settle down.

  
    She never expects Tobin to give up, she just doesn’t expect her to reach the solution that she does.

  
    Alex can barely contain her squeak of surprise when she finds the covers being pulled once more, but where Tobin had first pulled them away, she now pulls them up.

  
    In the place of warm fabric, cold skin presses against her own, startling her into complete awareness. Alex squirms helplessly, attempting to some degree to push the midfielder off the bed, but the older girl only laughs and pulls closer.

  
    “Tobin!” Her complaint rings throughout the room, loud and objective, but does nothing to deter the older soccer player.

  
    “No problem Lex, I can share,”

  
    Alex makes a weak noise of protest, the fight leaving her as Tobin’s warmth rapidly fills the small spaces they now share.

  
    The midfielder is not shy in filling those spaces. She wraps herself up with Alex just as much as she does the blanket, her long frame pushing into hers, seeking warmth, and for some odd reason Alex lets her.

  
    The knees that push into the backs of her own don’t feel intrusive. Her hands are softer than she had imagined to be, and gentle in the way that they fall about her waist, toying with the fabric of her shirt before settling.

  
    “Am I bothering you, Alex?” Tobin asks her then, and it’s the most genuine statement Alex has heard leave Tobin’s mouth in the time she has known her.

  
    She smells like shampoo and toothpaste, and when she speaks her body shakes with quiet, easy laughter. It’s relaxing, simple.

  
    At the same time, she feels an unmistakable energy rising within the girl, one that runs with abandon, an uncontrollable force that does as it pleases. She understands then, what Lauren had said to her and how it applies to the girl that lies beside her.

  
    Tobin is guided by her inner spirit, one of which she has little control over. Somehow, it has led her to this room, to this bed.

  
    “No, Toby, you’re not bothering me,” She tells her with a soft sigh, and surrenders enough of herself to relax against the girl behind her.

  
    Tobin shifts, moves her head up towards Alex’s ear. Her breath washes over her again—spearmint—and rises the hair along Alex’s arms, sending shivers running through her.

  
    “What did you call me, striker?” She muses quietly, and Alex is able to picture the brightness of her eyes, even facing away.

  
    “Go to sleep Toby,” She repeats with greater urgency, her body curling into itself and further away from the midfielder.

  
    For the first time, Tobin listens to her.

  
    Sleep finds Alex quicker than she thought possible, the warm lull of a body beside her coaxing her into a slumber.

  
    When she wakes however, she is cold.

  
    Alex sits up quickly, eyes scanning about the room, confused, her hands reaching out to the empty side of the bed that Tobin had occupied previously.

  
    Where Tobin should be, she finds only the bare bed furthest from the window.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin comes back each night after that, though wordlessly, crawling up into the right corner of the bed and waiting for Alex to make herself known.

  
    It scares Alex half to death the first time she walks in and sees the midfielder in her bed, curled deep into the covers, only the mirth of her eyes daring to be seen, the hint of her smile. It shocks Alex to her core, warms her right up like a good tea on a winter morning.

  
    Alex doesn’t dare to ask the big questions as she changes for bed, just pulls her shirt over her head in exchange for her worn out Cal-bear long sleeved and a pair of soft sleep shorts.

  
    Deep down, in her heart of hearts, she knows exactly why Tobin is here.

  
    When she turns to look at her and finds warm brown eyes glued to her frame, it only confirms it.

  
    She still goes to her, still pulls up the edge of the covers and settles in, facing sharply away from the girl. She’s cautious though, careful in her movements, a little stiffer. She hears Tobin’s careful sigh and knows that she noticed.

  
    It’s a sigh of resignation.

  
    Alex shifts, uncomfortable for the first time in the midfielder’s presence, suddenly uncertain.

  
    The feeling fades quickly, ebbs the instant the girl’s warmth settles against her back, the moment a soft hand reaches to settle at her waist.

  
    But still.

  
    “Tobin-” She only gets the girl’s name out before the midfielder shushes her, her chin falling gently into the space of her shoulder.

  
    “I know, Lex,” Tobin says easily, but there’s a hardness to her voice that has Alex unable to swallow.

  
    She takes a deep breath and lets it go, and the heat of it passes over Alex in an all too alluring manner, and then she untucks herself from the covers and from Alex and pulls completely away.

  
    Tobin hovers by the edge of the bed for a moment, hands awkward for the first time as she untangles herself, and then Alex rolls over to watch the girl walk the short distance to the other bed and flop down in it, stretching out her long limbs tiredly.

  
    Alex frowns immediately, sits up from her place by the window.

  
    “Take your blanket,” She says immediately, pushing the warmer of the blankets towards the midfielder.

  
    The older girl makes no move toward her, and Alex watches with a growing frustration as her lips quirk into a wide smirk.

  
    “You keep it, Lex. I’ll be fine,” She assures her with an exaggerated yawn, her face then relaxing as she closes her eyes.

  
    “You’ll be cold,” Alex tells her softly, though she lowers her body onto the mattress in surrender, allows her eyelids start to close.

  
    “I’ll be fine, striker,” Tobin sighs.

  
    The statement has a tone of finality to it that Alex doesn’t dared to push.

  
    “Okay,” She murmurs softly, rolling over and covering herself in the fabric she has been gifted, “Night,” She mutters into the sheets.

  
    She receives no answer, just a slight rustling from the opposite bed as the midfielder attempts to get comfortable.

  
    Alex wakes up the following morning warmed by both blankets, staring once again at an empty bed that should be filled.

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin starts staying close to her, and it freaks Alex out a little.

  
    The midfielder is hard enough to entertain in the brief moments she makes herself known to Alex, never mind for the entire day. It’s not something Tobin or Alex is cut out for, and it truly starts getting on her nerves when the midfielder sighs yet again in boredom.

  
    “Literally nothing is keeping you here,” Alex reminds the girl, glancing up from her reading to give her a sharp glare.

  
    The midfielder rolls her eyes at her, huffing a bit before glaring back. It holds little negative effect on Alex—the soft brown of the older girl’s eyes just weren’t cut out to convey annoyance. It instead only makes Alex smile, which only increases the dramatic roll of Tobin’s eyes.

  
    “That’s twice you’ve told me,” She informs her, disgruntled from her slouched position in her chair. Noises carried from down the hall, fierce laughter from the pool room that Tobin would no doubt want to be a part of.

  
    “Well that’s twice I haven’t understood why you haven’t run out the door yet,” Alex admits honestly, before allowing herself to find her place on the book page once more, her brows contracting in deep thought.

  
    “I don’t always have to be doing things, striker,” The girl argues back, her nose crinkling with the statement, as if it might somehow help to prove her point.

  
    Alex laughs from her place on the bed, her eyes forcibly moving up to mock Tobin.

  
    “I thought you said you didn’t lie?” She quips in the girl’s direction, to which Tobin allows her another deep sigh before her eyes drift up to the ceiling for the hundredth time in the fifteen minutes she has been there.

  
    “I’m not lying,” She persists.

  
    “You’re lying,” Alex tells her simply, but does not continue to argue her point.

  
    She curls up into herself instead, drawing the length of her legs close for warmth, and loses herself within the pages of her book.

  
    Even Tobin’s sighs, despite their frequency, become background.

  
    Unfortunately, Alex only remains within her own little world for about fifteen minutes, before Tobin’s unrelenting stare becomes apparent.

  
    Ice blue eyes snap up to meet soft brown, this time annoyance clear within their depths.

  
    “Tobin!” She complains unhappily, drawing her lower lip into her mouth with a pout and noting with a gentle approval the way the midfielder’s eyes had followed the movement.

  
    “I’m being good, I promise,” The girl responds, a smirk spreading across her face that only causes Alex to heat up even more.

  
    She throws the book on her bed carelessly, glaring at Tobin, and stands up, hands on her hips, before she walks over to stand before the girl lazily sprawled across her chair.

  
    “You’ve been with me all day,” She tells the tanned soccer player, as if she might need a reminder.

  
    Tobin’s brows draw together in amused, uncaring confusion, and Alex’s frustration visibly grows.

  
    “Didn’t realize I was on a time table. Better hurry before I miss my next meeting,” She drawls, her eyes tracing the movement of Alex’s with a studious nature Alex had thought her to not possess.

  
    Alex rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

  
    “You know what I mean. I’m just trying to read, okay? I have to write an essay on this book. And you, you’re distracting me. We both know you’d rather be anywhere else. I don’t know why you think you have to stay here, but you’re free to leave, so…”  Alex’s speech drifts off uncertainly, her eyes moving from the girl to the door, imploring her departure.

  
    Tobin doesn’t respond for a long time, just watches with gentle, seeing brown eyes that push Alex far past her comfort zone.

  
    Finally, Tobin shifts to sit straighter, her elbows resting on her knees as she leans towards Alex. There’s an unknown element in the depths of her eyes, a devilish kind of glee that makes Alex’s stomach drop.

  
    “We haven’t know each other very long, striker,” The midfielder had mused, her eyes running along the length of the girl, “ But if there’s one thing you should know, it’s that where I am is where I want to be, always. So don’t you worry about me limiting myself. I assure you, it doesn’t happen,” There’s an almost cruel tone to the way Tobin says it that has Alex reeling away instead of towards the girl, and she suddenly wants to run.

  
    Tobin’s eyes flash to her own, soft and without danger, and it relaxes her completely before she can ever take a single step away. Tobin shifts closer, her knees brushing against Alex’s lower thighs in a daring fashion.

  
    When she speaks again, her voice is a purr, light and strong.

  
    “As for distraction, well, I find distance to be quite distracting,” Alex struggles to keep up with Tobin’s musings as the words flow, enticing, and suddenly the room seems a little too small for the both of them, and they seem just a smidgen too close.

  
    “Uh,” Alex manages only a single syllable, whether it be denial or confirmation of Tobin’s words, she simply doesn’t know.

  
    “I can fix that, though.”

  
    Hands that are not her own grab her shirt and tug her around and down, into the comforts of the chair and the warmth of a body, and it takes Alex a moment to realize her position, with her back pressed against Tobin, who wraps her arms about her and pulls her even further in, until it’s all she knows.

  
    It knocks the breath from her body, shocks her system deeply.

  
    “That okay, striker?” Tobin asks, and her chest hums to life with her voice, a gentle vibration against Alex’s back, and she has to press her eyes closed to keep herself from jumping as if she’s been shocked.  
    Tobin’s hands settle warmly about her waist, firmly, and Alex knows that the midfielder would likely not let her go even if she were to jump away.

  
    She doesn’t know how it makes her feel, just understands the scattered and frantic beat of her heart.

  
    “Uh,” Alex responds again, eyes still pressed tightly closed, body stiff and unwilling to relax. Her voice is a whisper, barely audible, but she knows Tobin catches it by the little chuckle that rocks through her body, and by extension, through Alex’s.

  
    Tobin’s arms squeeze about her waist once, tightly, before relaxing, one hand straying lightly to the band of her sweatpants, the other abandoning her completely.

  
    Alex dares to peek and watches as she grabs her book from her bed, flips it open to the page she was reading and scans over it briefly, and Alex grows so brave as to turn her head to the side, to where Tobin’s face is, eyes focused on the pages and brows creased in the softest of concentrations.

  
    Then she starts to read aloud, her diction and pronunciation perfect, and Alex practically melts into her.

  
    It only makes Tobin laugh more, her chest softly shaking, but this time Alex isn’t tense, and the movements of the two bodies are fluid, easy.

  
    Tobin doesn’t just stop reading after the first page, or even after the end of the chapter. She continues without pause, occasionally making comments far too hilarious, and all pretense of fear Alex has falls completely away.

  
    She turns without limitation then, to watch the midfielder as she reads, and it’s a different Tobin Heath that Alex Morgan gets to see.

  
    Her face is relaxed, but not in her usual devil-may-care manner. Her lips smirk, but not in the way that makes Alex feel small. She watches as she comes to a particularly funny part and can’t help the smile that grows in response to Tobin, who runs her tongue across her teeth as she laughs in a way that is far too endearing.

  
    Her eyes are the darkest and richest brown, wide and alert with life as they scan the pages, reading back the information flawlessly. If Alex looks close enough, she can count the four tiny wrinkles that form at the corners of her eyes when she smiles.

  
    Her voice is sincere, her tone calm and without sarcasm. It’s musical, and sweet, and a little too perfect for Alex, who feels her heart tinge at the sound.

  
    It’s easy then, for Alex to abandon the harder parts of Tobin for those willing to yield to her. Her head rests for a while against the strength of the girl’s shoulder, but eventually finds itself moving into the sweet smelling, vulnerable parts of the girl’s neck.

  
    Alex tucks herself in there, her nose drawing a gentle line down to Tobin’s collar bone, and it is she who has to hide her own smile when Tobin’s breath hitches, and she stumbles, for the first time, over the words of a sentence.

  
    Tobin leans into her then, turns her face to the crown of her head, and she feels the girl’s smile there just as easily as if she had seen it.

  
    It’s the first time throughout the entire camp that Alex really feels safe, and it’s second nature to let her eyes flutter closed and let the girl’s voice carry her away.

  
     _“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,”_ Tobin doesn’t need to speak anymore. Alex gives in to the undercurrent of sleep and allows herself to be dragged down, safe in the warmth of the midfielder’s arms.

  
    Tobin lets her go without complaint.

  
    Only much later, when sleep has taken the reason from Alex, does she think to stir when Tobin gathers her up and carries her to her bed, tucks her in gently and pries her fingers from her shirt.

  
    “I hope you know what you’re doing, Tobin,”

  
    Maybe Lauren is there, maybe Alex’s dreams play tricks on her mind.

  
    A familiar hand strokes across her forehead, soothes away stray hairs that might have irritated her sleeping form.

  
    “It’s really none of your business, Cheney,” Tobin’s voice is hard again, and Alex can picture within the darker depths of her mind how her eyes might look, cold and withdrawn, and she might have frowned had she been of consciousness.

  
    “Alex is my friend, Tobin. And you’re one of my best. I’d say it’s definitely my business,” Cheney’s voice hardens as well, in a way Alex finds unfamiliar and impersonal.

  
    “She can take care of herself,” Tobin snaps, malice in her tone, and Alex begins to stir, her arms stretching out sleepily, grasping at where Tobin might be.

  
    Gentle hands push her back down and something warm presses over her left eyebrow.

  
    Something soft, wet.

  
    “Go to sleep, Alex,” Tobin’s voice sings, and Alex finds herself listening. She settles in again, and the hands withdraw.

  
    “Can she really? She’s a twenty-one year old soccer player, still insecure from her injury. And frankly, you’re an awful lot to handle, Tobin.”

  
    “We’re friends, Cheney. Just friends. And you’re going to wake her up.”

  
    “You always seem to be ‘just friends,’ and I always seem to be ‘waking them up.’”

  
    The silence that follows is so startling, so jarring, so profound that it almost fully rouses Alex from whatever dreaming state she is in.

  
    “Get out,”

  
    “Tobin, just listen-”

  
    “Get out Cheney. Before I say something I’m going to regret.”

  
    “I’m trying to help-”

  
    “Out.”

  
    The door clicks shut, comfortable silence engulfs the room, and something warm crawls under the covers and snuggles up against Alex’s back, something with arms and legs that reach out and ensnared her.

  
    Alex sleeps soundly.

  
    Undisturbed.

  
                    - - -

  
    When she wakes up, Tobin isn’t there.

  
    The book is though, lying face down on the page they left off on, and Alex feels her cheeks warm at the possibility of what those unturned pages might promise.

  
                    - - -

  
    She has her first bad practice of the camp, and the day it just kind of all around awful. Tobin abandons her completely after the night she reads to her. She has yet to come back to the room—Alex waits for her, one night— and has yet to even acknowledge her presence in the aftermath.

  
    It irritates her to no ends, but worst of all is the small pang of sadness that accompanies it.

  
    Lauren follows her as she storms away from the pitch as practice ends, her frustrations turning to fire within her chest. It’s never good when she gets like this, when the competitive drive that fuels her soul runs rampant. Things always tend to happen with such occurrences, things she wishes she could take back.

  
    Lauren’s hand is warm against the cold though, and gentle on her shoulder. Alex allows herself to relax into the hold, her gaze less aggressive then previous.

  
    “We all have bad days, Alex,” She tells her, and Alex is glad to not find pity seated within the depths of the forward’s eyes, “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Tomorrow will be better,” The older, curly haired girl says, and while it greatly comforts Alex, the longer she spends looking at Lauren, the more fiercely Tobin’s absence begins to gnaw at her.

  
    “It’s not just that,” She tells her slowly, and feels herself blush in slow burning embarrassment as Lauren looks at her sideways, waiting for her to continue.

  
    Alex knows the last person she should be talking to about Tobin—besides Tobin—is Tobin’s best friend.

  
    The appeal of information and reassurance, however, is stronger than any misgivings she may have about it.

  
    “It’s Tobin,” She says slowly, her eyes watching Lauren carefully, and she notes the carefully composed mask that the girl puts on the instant the name is mentioned.

  
    “What about her?” Lauren asks, and immediately Alex knows that she knows.

  
    She just doesn’t know what she knows about.

  
    “I really don’t think she likes me,” Her voice is small, smaller than it should be, and she swallows awkwardly, her eyes refusing to meet Lauren’s as she watches the girl freeze, sees her head shake back and forth, her hand grip tighter to her shoulder.

  
    She gets pulled aside before she can comprehend what’s happening, and then it’s just the ice blue of Lauren’s eyes against the freezing sky.

  
    “It’s hard,” Lauren says slowly, “to explain Tobin. Especially when you haven’t know her very long,” Her voice pauses again, uncertain, and only Alex’s sharp gaze implores her to continue.

  
    “She’s very easy to like, Alex. I mean, I love her to death. I’ve known her for years now, she’s one of the people closest to me. She’s good, in every sense of the world. Easy,” She pauses again, deliberating, and again Alex meets her gaze as boldly as she can.

  
    “But she’s also very, very hard, Alex. Complicated. She’s different from anyone I’ve ever known, and not necessarily in the best way. She’s got her share of issues, ones that aren’t mine to share. But even then, that’s not what worries me.”

  
    Alex’s brow furrows, her arms cross.

  
    “What then, if not that? What could possibly be wrong about her?” Alex doesn’t understand how she can be so defensive, but she is, and she can tell that it takes Lauren aback, makes her eyes narrow.

  
    Her lips purse once, in careful consideration, before she simply sighs and tells her.

  
    “ _She never stays_ , Alex,” She tells her calmly, and suddenly it all sort of just makes sense to Alex.

  
    It crushes her, just a little.

  
    “Never?” Her voice is even smaller than before, more hesitant, unconfident.

  
    Lauren just shakes her head, the answer clear.

  
    It’s precisely then that Tobin decides to approach her for the first time in two days, waltzing up like she wouldn’t dare to be anywhere else.

  
    Alex watches her carefully, noticing the hardness of her face, very unlike that of the one that had read to her, had held her.

  
    Her concern both lessens and grows when she discovers that the hardness is directed at Lauren, and not her.

  
    “Hey Cheney, striker,” Tobin greets them as she settles by Alex’s side, her eyes never leaving Lauren, “What are you guys up too over here?” She questions, and her tone is not very friendly.

  
    If Lauren is put off by Tobin’s tone, she doesn’t let it show, simply fixes her with a firm gaze and a tight smile.

  
    “Alex didn’t have the best practice. Just giving her some reassurance,” Lauren tells her, and Tobin finally turns to look at Alex, and again she pathetically melts from the inside out.

  
    Tobin’s eyes soften to warm brown pools when she looks at her, and her smile, so easily turned up in malice, warms to a gentle smirk.

  
    “You look pretty good to me,” Tobin tells her.

  
    Look. Present tense.

  
    Alex flushes in a quiet, almost guilty pleasure, keeping her gaze far from Lauren’s.

  
    The curly midfielder’s grip on her shoulder tightens, and Alex watches with growing interest as Tobin’s eyes move to stare at the movement, unimpressed.

  
    “Anyways,” Tobin drawls, her eyes flitting over to her lazily, and the gaze shouldn’t work Alex up the way it does, “Let’s go back to the hotel, yeah?” She asks, and Alex barely has time to nod before a tanned hand grabs her own and pulls her away, impatient.

  
    Alex stumbles trying to keep pace, and the pair leave Lauren behind in a way that Alex isn’t entirely thrilled with, but simply isn’t brave enough to complain about.

  
    Tobin pulls her up onto the team bus, hand never leaving it’s place on her wrist, and Alex obeys the pressure blindly as it pulls her into a random seat that she quickly recognizes to be Tobin’s.

  
    No one sits in another's spot.

  
    Alex’s gaze finds Tobin’s curiously, expecting an anger she doesn’t find. Instead, a quiet mirth plays about the depths of her eyes, brown like cinnamon, and just as sweet. It sets something loose within Alex, something that doesn’t just run, but flies.

  
    “What’s so interesting, striker?” Tobin wonders, the pink of her lips pursed in calm amusement, one thick with humor, and Alex simply stares her down, her eyes rolling at the girl’s smirk.

  
    “You,” She says simply, with a soft shrug of her shoulders, before she pulls her wrist free from the midfielder and fixes the stray strands of hair from her high bun.

  
    She looks away then as the bus leaves for the hotel, and pretends not to feel angelic when, out of the corner of her eye, a true smile finds it’s way to Tobin’s face.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin doesn’t let her go like Alex expects her too. They get to the hotel and head to dinner, where Alex has taken to eating with Sydney and Abby and Kelley, and casts a disbelieving look in Tobin’s direction as the girl plops down beside her lazily, completely unconcerned, and proceeds to silently dig into a rather large plate of pasta.

  
    If her dinner mates think anything of it, they don’t say, and they all make amiable conversation around mouthfuls of food.

  
    A hand touches hers about a half hour into dinner, warm and smooth, and she nearly jumps out of her skin, causing Abby to shoot her a look of concern. The hand only tightens around her, and out of the corner of her eye she watches Tobin choke on her pasta as she fights a laugh.

  
    “Easy there, Alex,” Abby tells her, her tone concerned, and Alex feels herself heat up in angry embarrassment as everyone goes back to their food, and Syd and Kelley roll their eyes at her before returning to their conversation on man marking.

  
    She shoots a glare at Tobin when it’s safe, but all pretense of anger fades away at the wide smile she is met with.

  
    Again, she tries her best to ignore the flutters.

  
    She thinks perhaps she is safe when dinner ends, that Tobin will leave her for some other form of entertainment.

  
     She gets up hoping for a chance to calm her racing pulse in the quiet of her room, but nearly the instant she arrives, the door opens again, and of course there Tobin is, unabashed and bold as she shuts the door behind her.

  
    “Um, I don’t want to read right now, Tobin, in fact I—”

  
    “What did Cheney say to you?” Tobin demands, cutting her off, and it leaves Alex open mouthed and very, very uncertain.

  
    “Oh, uh, you know, what she told you. I had a, um, bad practice,” Alex stutters out, off guard, and clamps her mouth shut when she watches Tobin’s eyes harden, watches her step closer, and she finds herself stepping back.

  
    This is, again, a Tobin she has never seen. There is neither sweetness nor anger in this version of her, instead she finds a predator, watching her with uncaring eyes, demanding and unyielding.

  
    “No, Alex. What did she tell you?” Another step, and Alex starts to feel cornered, “because it’s not true. I’ve had some trouble in the past but it’s over now, okay? I changed, no matter what Cheney thinks,”

  
    The longer Alex watches her, the heavier her heart becomes, and suddenly she finds the strangest urge to comfort Tobin, to smooth away her worries.

  
    “Tobin, listen,” Alex tries, but the sharp glare of the girl discourages her, silences her as she advances.

  
    “I mean it, Alex. It’s not true, I’m not like that, I swear,” And there is a lesser, panicked element to her speech that seizes at Alex’s heart and pulls on the strings.

  
    “Tobin!” Her voice is firm but loud, and it surprises the both of them. Tobin saunters back a step, a bit taken aback, but this time Alex follows her, grabs at her wrist somewhat awkwardly and uses it to tug her back before letting it go.

  
    When she meets her eyes, she flushes brightly, uncertain under the midfielder’s full attention.

  
    “I was scared,” She admits softly, her voice a near whisper, but she knows by the light that enters Tobin’s eyes that she hears it, “I didn’t think you liked me. I thought you were just entertaining yourself, you know? Making fun of the rookie. Making me look dumb,” Her voice trails off softly, uncertainly, and her eyes drop to the floor.

  
    When she looks up again, Tobin is much closer.

  
    “I like you, Alex,” Her voice is as soft as her hands, which suddenly cradle her jaw, holding it firm and steady, and then dark copper irises are closer than she’s ever seen them, and then completely gone.

  
    Tobin is not gentle. Her lips don’t ask, but claim, pushing her own apart to make way, and it shocks Alex to her core, wakes her up jarringly.

  
    Tobin’s hands don’t leave her jaw, not right away, for fear she might attempt to part from her, and Alex sways for a moment before falling into the girl unsteadily, her hands finding purchase at Tobin’s waist and bicep.

  
    She tastes like the eucalyptus and sugar of her chapstick and it makes Alex a little weak in the knees.

  
    It’s then, after coaxing her lips to tentatively return the kiss, that Tobin’s hands leave her face for her waist and draw her close.

  
    She plays with the corner of Tobin’s t-shirt, because hell, she’s kissing Tobin, and an hour ago she was wondering if she’d ever even have another conversation with her.

  
    She’s warm in a way that nothing should be allowed to be. It’s far too enticing for Alex. She wants nothing more than to sink into that warmth and never leave it, and as she falls deeper into the kiss, she almost does.

  
    Tobin engulfs her with a passionate fire, every movement is smooth and sure, strong and confident, and it has Alex struggling to keep pace as fingers play at the hem of her jeans, seeking soft skin and finding it.

  
    The kiss breaks into a succession of soft pecks, forcing Alex’s attention from Tobin’s fingers back to her face, and her eyes flutter closed, a bit star struck, until again Tobin deepens the kiss, and her tongue swipes across Alex’s lower lip, sending shivers through her.

  
    By some unknown mercy, Tobin eventually lets her breathe, and the air rushes into her through a quick array of gasps as Tobin’s lips turn to her neck instead, kissing and sucking softly on the skin there.

  
    Her hair tickles against Alex’s chin and nose as she moves, and the strong smell of honey and mint tea almost sucks her back in.

  
    Tobin pulls away then, and when she meets her gaze her eyes are black, hungry in a way that makes Alex’s mouth dry.

  
    “Do you like me, Alex?” Her voice is soft, husky, and as Alex stares at her in all her blue eyed wonder, she presses another kiss to the line of her jaw, the edge of her chin.

  
    “Uh,” Alex manages to breath out, her mind a whirling mush, but it all comes to a stop when Tobin’s mouth splits into a grin and she laughs gently, softly, and then her lips cover Alex’s again briefly, sweetly.

  
    “What was that, striker?” Tobin’s voice asks against her ear, and her breath is hot. Alex presses her eyes closed tightly, urges her body to stop shaking, for her mind to start working.

  
    And finally Alex manages to halt her train of thought, her flutter of emotions, and she fixes Tobin with a calm stare.

  
    “Yes,” She breathes out, her eyes closing as her lips are kissed again, jovially, “Yes,” She hums against a warm mouth, a gentle one, “Yes I like you, Tobin,” She purrs into her, and the bright suns of Tobin’s eyes ignite a burning inside of her.

  
    Tobin snatches her up and sets her down on the bed, and then shifts to stand between her legs, her hand pulling her chin up, asking her to look at her, and she smiles when she agrees, rewards her with yet another soft kiss, and Alex wonders if she’s dying or already dead.

  
    “I thought Cheney had scared you away,” She breathes out against her lips, and Alex is unable to stop the giggle that bursts free from her lips. Tobin’s responding smile is one that glows, and suddenly Alex feels whole.

  
    “I’m not one who easily gets scared off,” She tells her, and as if to prove her point, presses the first of her own kisses to Tobin’s lips, tingling at Tobin’s noise of approval.

  
    “No, striker,” Tobin says gently, and there’s something hidden in her eyes, something hopeful, “You’re not.”

  
    Then she lowers her onto the bed and continues to kiss her senseless.

  
    Alex, to her credit, doesn’t really mind.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin settles right in at Alex’s side as if she has always belonged there.

  
    She plays the part well, loyally, and it makes Alex smile a little too wide when Tobin laces their fingers together underneath the breakfast table and doesn’t let go.

  
    Tobin’s refusal to stray in no way lessens her restless spirit, but where she originally would have left Alex behind, she now simply drags her along for all of her crazy adventures.

  
    It’s a bit out of Alex’s element, and way out of her comfort zone. It leaves her rather exhausted—she’s never been one to seek out constant activity. She’s a girl known for appreciating her couch time—but Tobin doesn’t let her leave, and when the tanned midfielder flashes her a smile every now and then, or presses a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth when no one is looking, Alex doesn’t want to leave.

  
    She gets use to being uncomfortable, and she gets use to being tired.

  
    She doesn’t get use to Tobin Heath.

  
    She still shivers when her skin touches hers, when she catches her chocolate eyes watching her for a moment to long. It makes her smile when she laughs, makes her heart flutter when she holds her hand where no one can see.

  
    And when she kisses her, strong and deep and passionate, she simply feels.  

  
    And then camp ends, and everything that Alex had thought to be perfect quickly reveals itself to be the opposite.

  
    “I like to travel,” Tobin tells her.

  
    Alex just smiles and nods, focused on her phone as Tobin talks, her fingers playing with those of Alex’s free hand.

  
    When Alex thinks of travel, she thinks of a two week vacation once a year to a tropical island somewhere in the Bahamas, and she thinks Tobin must look great in a bathing suit, and about how much she would want to see that.

  
    When she discoveries just how the word relates to Tobin, however, it blindsides her completely.

  
    Tobin doesn’t just travel. She roams wildly, with an untraceable, incomprehensible abandon.

  
_@TobinHeath posted a photograph._

  
_@TobinHeath posted a photograph._

  
_@TobinHeath posted a photograph._

  
_@TobinHeath ‘Livin Large’._

  
_@TobinHeath ‘More pics from the farm’._

  
_@TobinHeath ‘Walking on water’._

  
_@TobinHeath ‘End of the world’._

  
    Alex never knows where she is, and it hurts her in a way she didn’t believe possible.

  
    She knew things would change at the end of camp, when she more or less had to pry Tobin’s phone number from her unwilling hand.

  
    “I don’t want to text you. I want to talk to you, face to face,” Tobin whines, her big brown puppy eyes on full display. Alex rolls her eyes from her place by Tobin’s shoulder, where she rests her head, and leans in to peck her cheek, her lips soft and feather light.

  
    “Well we aren’t going to be face to face until next camp,” Alex reminds her, nudging her phone towards her once more, to which Tobin pulls a face and then retreats into quiet thought.

  
    “That’s only six months away,” She says with sudden vigor, as if to some great realization.

  
    This time Alex pulls a face, narrows her eyes.

  
    “You’re okay with not seeing me for six months?” She asks her carefully, a little wounded, and Tobin’s eyes widen comically, and she sits up a little straighter.

  
    “Easy there, striker,” She starts off, fixing her with a firm glance as she moves to stop Alex from fidgeting away, “That’s not what I said.”

  
    Alex tries to be patient and stops her movement, waiting for an explanation.

  
    “It’s just that it’s very hard to make out with a phone screen, which generally wouldn’t be a problem, except for every time I talk to you that seems to be where my mind goes,” Tobin tells her, for the first time with a soft blush, and Alex can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up from her chest, and she rolls onto Tobin, kissing her sweetly.

  
    “It’s only six months,” She reminds her softly, speaking into the pleasant crevice of her lower jaw, and she closes her eyes, content when she feels Tobin shudder into her, happy when she notes the flutter of her pulse against her mouth.

  
    “Only six,” Tobin says back to her, and lets her go as Alex rolls up onto her feet and stretches in a fluid movement, a soft yawn escaping her as she goes to shower.

  
    When she comes back, Tobin’s gone, but there’s a new contact in her phone.

  
     _The Coolest Person You Will Ever Know_ , it reads, and next to it, where the line reads “alternative name,” it says _And The Best At Kissing_.

  
    The picture that fills the contact bubble is one Alex has yet to see. It’s quite simple, nothing special, taken the very first week of camp. Alex had caught Tobin trying to take a selfie and had dropped into the space behind her, intent to photo bomb.

  
    Tobin’s caught off guard, her serious look diminished by a wide smile, her eyes crinkled, the peace sign of her hands half turned down as she had tried to swat Alex away from where she had hung over Tobin’s shoulder, lips parted in an exaggerated grin, just a crescent of her blue eyes visible.

  
    They look happy, and they look together, and they look happy together.

  
    Then Alex shakes all the warm and mushy feelings back out of her and sends her first text to Tobin.

  
   _To The Coolest P…:_ _You are a loser._

  
    She only has to wait thirty seconds for a reply to come.

  
     _From The Coolest P…:_ _You love it._

  
    And she does, she really, really does.

  
    But two and a half months later, staring down at her black phone screen, she doesn’t.

  
    At first she had scrolled through her ten read but unanswered texts to Tobin, but had only made it to the fifth one before it had become too much.

  
    It’s not that she thinks Tobin has forgotten about her—it’s really not, she swears to herself at two a.m.—and she understands that really, with the amount of travel Tobin has been doing, it’s a wonder the girl has any energy to breathe, never mind surf and climb and explore and text her back.

  
    The problem is she misses Tobin terribly.

  
    And the longer she stares at Tobin’s instagram, the more she comes to understand that Tobin doesn’t miss her, doesn’t have time to, and even if she did, probably still wouldn’t.

  
    She calls Lauren, because she’s the only one that has any inkling about her and about Tobin and about her and Tobin together, and thinks she has this great speech planned out, but in the end just cries into the phone.

  
    Lauren, to her credit, doesn’t hang up.

  
                    - - -

  
    The text comes the very next day, and Alex is at that point one hundred percent confident that Lauren does in fact talk to Tobin about her.

  
     _From The Coolest Per…: Can I come visit?_

  
    And then under that,

  
  _@TobinHeath is now following you._

  
_@TobinHeath has tagged you in a photo._

  
    Alex opens up the photo and is met with the exact picture Tobin chose to use as her contact in Alex’s phone.

  
     _@TobinHeath: Missing my favorite striker!!!!! @alexmorgan13_

  
    And it shouldn’t be enough. It shouldn’t make up for months of ignored messages and declined phone calls, shouldn’t right hours of staring at her phone, hoping it will light up with her stupid name.

  
    But it’s Tobin, the girl who gives her idiotic nicknames and reads entire books to her and kisses her so perfectly she forgets to breathe. It’s easy, with so many positives in mind, to ignore the negatives, easy to forget that that same girl is the one who has yet to spend an entire night by her side, who has ignored her for three and a half months, whose only incentive to ever want her was when she thought Cheney had taken her away.

  
    It’s just all too easy.

  
   _To The Coolest Per…: When do you fly in :p_

  
                        - - -

  
    She picks Tobin up at the airport, all smiles and short sleeves and cold drinks, because it’s been freezing in Paris, but it’s always warm in Cali, and she figures that if the midfielder has missed anything, it’s the sun.

  
    Tobin stumbles out of baggage claim with a worn out, hideous, bright orange suitcase and jetlagged eyes, but it doesn’t stop her lips from pulling up into a big smile, doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the instant they find Alex.

  
    “Hey there Al,” She mumbles tiredly as she wraps her arms around her, solid and strong and warm, “Missed ya,”

  
    Alex doesn’t pretend she is unaffected. She wraps her arms around her and hugs back, daring to stick her face against the girl’s neck and breath in her soft scent, if just for a moment.

  
    “Tobin,” She says, and it’s a happy statement, a simple one.

  
    After a while—and from the concern that Tobin might actually fall asleep leaning against her—Alex breaks away from her, grabbing the handle of Tobin’s suitcase and nodding towards the exit.

  
    “You must be exhausted,” She tells her, and Tobin confirms it with a low hum and a tired rub at her eyes.

  
    They get back to Alex’s tiny little apartment, barely a two room, one bath, and Tobin falls into her bed the second Alex points it out, her limbs spread wide and head quickly buried under the pillows. The familiarity of it makes Alex smile, and she leaves her suitcase and closes the door before settling down on the couch in the living room/kitchen.

  
    Only fifteen minutes go by before sock clad feet announce Tobin’s arrival. Alex glances up at her, a frown on her face and a question on her lips, but before she can quite ask it the midfielder stoops down and kisses her firmly, her fingers tangling in the strands of her hair.     

  
    She doesn’t taste like she usually does. Her lips are chapped, dehydrated by the altitude of the plane, and they taste like one would expect the wear and tear of travel to taste like—stale, salty, and like the chicken and week old vegetables she must have ordered for lunch.

  
    And yet Alex finds she simply doesn’t care. It’s Tobin, after all, and god has she missed her, and once she returns the kiss and rubs off some of her strawberry chapstick against Tobin’s, the gesture isn’t bad at all.

  
    She feels the fatigue in the lazy way that Tobin forms her kisses and breaks it off, pulling back to look up into red rimmed, glazed over brown eyes, and smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of her jaw.

  
    “Aren’t you tired?” She asks her gently, and the midfielder nods her head with a groan, pouting softly as she collapses on the couch, rubbing at her forehead.

  
    “Why aren’t you sleeping then?” She asks her, with genuine confusion as Tobin stretches out widely, her legs going up to rest on the coffee table and her head moving to rest against Alex’s shoulder, her eyes glued to the Sports Center that plays on the TV screen in front of them.

  
    “Can’t sleep,” She says simply, and Alex watches in quiet amusement as her eyelids drag down, and she has to fight them back open. She raises her hand to Tobin’s head, rubs her fingers gently against her scalp until the girl’s eyes close once more, her lips turning up in a pleasant hum.

  
    “Why not?” She asks Tobin, her voice gentle as she feels her relax into her, her pink lips parting to make way for a yawn.

  
    “Cause you’re out here,” Tobin tells her simply, and then falls silent, relaxing completely.

  
    They don’t speak anymore after that, and Tobin falls asleep against her within a matter of minutes, her breath evening out into a peaceful rhythm.

  
    Deep within Alex’s chest, where no one can see, the flutters return with a vigor.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin is, in theory, the perfect guest.

  
    She in no way, whatsoever, alters Alex’s routine, and where Alex might have found it impressive, she only finds it annoying.

  
    The next day, when she wakes, up, Tobin isn’t even there.

  
    She finds a small, hastily scribbled note that just says “Gone for a while, couldn’t resist,” which she has no way to make any sort of sense out of.

  
    A half hour later her phone buzzes with an answer.

  
     _@TobinHeath: Lovin these Cali waves._

  
    Alex fumes, and debates calling her and leaving what will probably be several angry voice messages.

  
    In the end, she rationalizes that Tobin probably wouldn’t even get them anyways, so she grabs the stupid, ugly, yellowed paper Tobin used to scrawl out her note and crumbles it into the palm of her hand.

  
    She leaves it like that, and goes to the gym, and doesn’t come back until her muscles ache and her body fatigues.

  
    She finds Tobin curled up on the couch in the dark, only the white glow of the TV lighting up her slumbering frame. She has a half opened box of Taipei on her lap, a small amount of noodles spilled across her lap.

  
    It makes Alex smile, splits her face right in two before she can stop it, because there’s something about the lull of Tobin’s head against the back of the couch, something about the wide sprawl of her arms that is inherently perfect.

  
    She pushes the noodles back into the box and folds it up, placing it on the coffee table before turning to inspect her sleeping guest.

  
    It’s the calmest she’s ever seen Tobin.

  
    The midfielder is a wild storm when awake, flying about in a desire to see, explore, do.

  
    The two of them are very different in that manner, Alex reasons. She’s always been one to color inside the lines, to play within her given constraints. Tobin’s not the same, not in any way shape or form. Everything about her is scribbles and noise and adventure.

  
    Asleep on Alex’s couch, however, there’s nothing about her relaxed face that gives any of her chaotic nature away, and when Alex settles down next to her, it’s easy to pretend that she’ll still be in the same spot come the morning.

  
    Alex falls asleep like that—hoping and happy in the midst of her pretense, her hand on Tobin’s.

  
                        - - -

  
    Predictably, Tobin’s not there when Alex wakes up, stiff and sore from the night on the couch, but she is nearby, so it almost counts for something.

  
    She stands in the kitchen wearing Alex’s Cal-Bear hoodie, and while the striking yellow only looks good on very few people, it meshes surprisingly well with Tobin’s tanned skin and messy bun.

  
    “Hello,” The midfielder chirps the instant she sees Alex stir, and she stops eating a large bowl of choco puffs to hop up from the tiny kitchen table and scurry over to the couch.

  
    Alex wakes up immediately the moment Tobin’s lips are on her, her eyes wide and pulse racing.

  
    “Hello,” She yawns back, her tongue licking away the chocolate taste that Tobin leaves behind, “What are you up too?”

  
    “Nothing,” Tobin says all too quickly, and then as if she can barely contain herself, conjoins her sentences together in her eagerness to speak, “Let’s do something,” She states, and it’s bold in a way that makes Alex shiver.

  
    “What do you want to do?” She asks the tanned girl, and she recognizes her mistake as soon as she asks her question, because Tobin just about starts shaking on the spot. 

     
    “Oh boy,” Alex mutters, but Tobin’s grin, devilish as always, only grows wider.

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex grew up in California, and has seen the Sequoia National Park twice—once with her family, once on a class trip.

  
    Tobin, apparently, has never seen a tree larger than a tall pine, because the second they roll up to the park she’s all wide eyes and wonder.

  
    She leaps from the car the second Alex parks it and streaks like a wild thing up towards the closest tree, and as Alex gets out from the car, all she can hear are her excited squeals.

  
    “Alex! These are _big trees_ ,” She calls out to her, and Alex can’t keep the grin from spreading across her face.

  
    She’s slow to join Tobin, the enjoyment of watching the girl wander aimlessly around the trunk of the tree far too enjoyable to ruin.

  
    They wander amongst the giant forest for hours, partially because Tobin loves it so much, but mostly due to the fact that they get lost, and Tobin seems content to remain that way.

  
    “We’ve definitely already been here,” Alex comments to her as they wander under another tree bridge.

  
    Tobin shrugs her shoulders, her eyes still skyward.

  
    “Oh well. The trails have to end some time,” She says, and it sets Alex a bit on edge, because no, the trails don’t have to end—some go on forever, really—and there’s only so many trees a girl can stare at in one day.

  
    “Oh, that looks interesting,” Tobin tells her then, and points a lazy hand towards the Crystal Cave, which they have somehow managed to stumble upon, and it’s then that Alex realizes that Tobin knows exactly where she’s going.

  
    Tobin leads her down into a world of beauty, where crystals grow from every crevice of the cavern and the entire world sparkles. It’s beyond captivating, it takes Alex’s breath away, and she let’s Tobin lead her, breathless with wonder, until the tanned girl stops her and kisses her beneath the dripping tips of the stalactites, and everything fades away to nothing.

  
    It’s perfect, and it’s easy, and it feels a lot like home.

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin takes her to the beach a couple of days later. She buys the two of them a monstrous lemon ice cream cone, and while Alex has never been crazy about sharing food—never mind ice cream—she’s surprised to find she doesn’t mind sharing with her.

  
    Tobin never takes more than her fair share, and Alex finds a quiet fascination in watching her tongue swipe across the white scoops, pulling the creamy substance between pink lips.

  
    She likes Tobin at the beach. Her tan skin and messy bun belong here, with the soft sand and the gentle roll of the waves. The sea makes her eyes lighter, warmer, makes the harder parts of her softer, gentle, from the strength of her smile to the fullness of her laugh.

  
    The wind picks up sand and throws it at them, and the contact is coarse and rough, but Tobin’s hand in hers is warm, and her presence is a solid shield against the harsh breeze.

  
    Alex holds tight to her.

  
    Tobin’s gaze falls to her when she does, and her lips are simply happy, pulled up lightly at the corners. She raises their entwined hands in a playful manner, and strokes the pair across Alex’s forehead, pushing at stray strands of hair that stick to her forehead.

  
    “Alex.” She says softly, and it’s not a question, or a call for her attention, because her eyes stare deep into her own and do not waiver.

  
    Something within Alex, something that has no name, starts to shake, quivering violently, erratically.

  
    When Tobin kisses her, her lips are sticky with sweetness, and they taste of lemon and confection sugar cone and salt, and her fingers are smooth when they stroke the line of her jaw before tangling into her hair.

  
    Alex shivers against her, trembles into her body as she wraps her arms around her shoulders and pulls her close, and she knows Tobin feels it by the way her lips tilt into a grin, the way her hands move to run down her arms and rub them carefully, tenderly.

  
    She pulls away from her after a little eternity, her gaze unwavering as she presses a feather light kiss to her forehead, and then she simply wraps her arms around Alex’s waist and holds her.

  
    She smells like Tobin should smell, and Alex sticks her cold nose into the crevice of her neck and breathes deeply, and feels so, so complete.

  
    She’s on her way to falling in love with Tobin Heath, and she knows that Tobin Heath knows.

  
    But she doesn’t know if Tobin Heath will ever love her back as much as she loves the beach, or new cities and towns and countries, and it makes her so very scared.

  
    Even now, entangled by her, Alex knows her eyes drift to the horizon, to the breaking waves, to the rapidly starring sky. She feels the desire in Tobin’s very essence, feels her need to move and see and roam.

  
    Lemon ice cream and tall trees aren’t enough to keep her here, with Alex.

  
    Alex isn’t enough to keep her here.

  
    Instead of dwelling on such truths, Alex just clings to the midfielder, pushes back her tears and hopes that Tobin will never let her go.

  
    She does, of course, after the waves have quieted and the sky has filled with lights.

  
    Alex lets her go, presses a quick kiss to her lips before she can retract herself completely, and gives her only a small smile in response to her surprise.

  
    “I’m so happy,” She tells Tobin’s honeyed eyes, and melts into herself when they warm and fill with stars, “That you came to visit me.”

  
    Tobin smiles back.

  
    “Yeah, striker,” She says into the quiet spaces of her words, “I’m happy too.”

  
    Alex tries her best to believe her.

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin takes herself to the airport.

  
    Alex lets her do it.

  
    The next time she hears from her is two months later.

  
   _From: The Coolest Per…: Went to the prettiest beach today._

  
_From: The Coolest Per…: Thought of you._

  
_From: The Coolest Per…: I miss you._

  
    She doesn’t write back.

  
    When next camp finally rolls around, it’s been sixth months.

  
                    - - -

  
    She does call her _once_.

  
    A voice she doesn’t know picks up the phone, laughing, and asks in a heavily accented female voice who is calling.

  
    “Uh,” Alex hums into the phone, uncertain, “Is Tobin there, by any chance? Tobin Heath? It’s Alex, her…” She doesn’t know how to end the sentence, so she lets it dangle uncomfortably.

  
    There’s silence for a moment, and then the dial tone as the girl hangs up on her.

  
    Alex doesn’t try again.

  
                    - - -

  
    “She has a lot of friends, Alex,” Lauren tells her one night over the phone, when Alex has had just a little too much to drink and has had a lapse of impulse control.

  
    “Like, _a lot_ of friends. Too many, even,” Lauren continues, and Alex’s feels her heart start to sink.

  
    “She does talk about you a lot, though, for someone with that many friends,” Lauren notes, almost as an afterthought, and Alex doesn’t know if the comment is meant to encourage or torment her.

  
    “Just… just friends, though, right?” Alex asks, and she almost wants to die at the awkward pause that follows her question, at the small breath Lauren releases.

  
    “I mean, yeah. I think so, from what she tells me,”

  
    It’s not much, but it’s something, and it lessens the weight in Alex’s chest considerably.

  
    “Where is she right now? I called her and someone… foreign picked up,” She tries to keep the hope out of her voice, but by the way Lauren words her sentences, she knows she fails.

  
    “France. She’s been in France for a while now,” Lauren tells her.

  
    “Does she ever go anywhere else?” Alex asks, and is surprised by how bitter she sounds, how hostile.

  
    Lauren hesitates again, and Alex can tell she’s slowly losing her privileges when it comes to talking to her about Tobin.

  
    “I’m sorry,” She says quickly in an attempt to salvage the situation, “She’s just so…”

  
    “Yeah,” Lauren says after another pause, and there’s a sadness in her voice, a pity directed towards her that crushes Alex, “Yeah, she is.”

  
                        - - -

  
    If six months means anything to Tobin, she doesn’t let it show.

  
    They both meet at the baggage claim, their connecting flights having landed at the same time, and Alex sees the orange of her luggage before she actually sees her.

  
    The sight puts a bad taste in her mouth that she can’t place.

  
    “Alex!” Her head swivels, and then there she is, all tan skin and long, pulled back hair and open arms.

  
    It’s hard, when Alex first sees her, to remember the feelings of being wronged that kept her up for so many nights. Tobin is unfairly beautiful after her nine-hour-flight, dressed in a soft beige sweater and a long, sweeping, hunter green jacket that is just her style; elegant but relaxed in the way it trails down past her hips. Black tights, pulled taught against her legs, show off muscles that Alex had forgotten were there.

  
    She sweeps her up against her before Alex can find a way around it, and once in the familiarity of the embrace, Alex terrifyingly finds her protests fading away.

  
    “I missed you,” She tells her, her smile showing off all of her teeth, and Alex can’t help the blush that heats up her face.

  
    She untangles herself from Tobin carefully, shuffling her carry-on from one shoulder to the other.

  
    “Yeah, it’s good to be back at camp,” Alex says carefully, and can’t help the sense of pride she feels when she watches Tobin’s face fall ever so slightly.

  
    Serves her right.

  
    Then the look disappears, and a Tobin that Alex hasn’t had to deal with in six months takes it’s place, her eyes harder, the pull of her lips lined up into a smirk that isn’t all that kind.

  
    “Oh. I wasn’t talking about soccer, but I guess that’s good too,” She responds, and the statement throws Alex off kilter, leaves her reeling at her forwardness.

  
    Alex’s bag is the last to enter the carousel, and it’s a rather awkward fifteen minutes of uncertainty.

  
    “How was France?” Alex blurts out after about five minutes, when her black soccer suitcase has still remained unfound, and she just can’t handle the way Tobin’s eyes flit from the ceiling to the floor to the exit.

  
    She catches Tobin off guard. The midfielder’s head snaps to attention, and her eyes aren’t hard, just surprised.

  
    “How did you know I was in France?” She practically demands, and it scares Alex a little bit.

  
    She takes a step back, uncertain, and watches a slight sadness enter Tobin’s eyes. She relaxes, steps off, and her face is apologetic when it looks to hers again.

  
    “I talked to Cheney a few times. She mentioned it,” Alex says gently, and watches as Tobin nods her head, crosses her arms.

  
    “Oh,” She says simply, “Oh,”

  
    Another uncomfortable minute passes between them, and Alex finds herself running out of things to fix as she pushes stray hairs out of her face and adjusts the long sleeves of her soccer jacket.

  
    “It was really good,” Tobin says, almost as an afterthought, and Alex gives her a small smile in response that grows astronomically as her suitcase finally makes it’s way onto the conveyor belt.

  
    She goes to grab it, but Tobin’s hands push her own out of the way and snatch it up before she can manage it, forcing Alex’s eyes back to hers, leaving her unable to run off to the hotel.

  
    Tobin’s eyes are challenging as she swings the shoulder strap up onto her shoulder, challenging and daring, and Alex swallows her discomfort and tries to smile, but fails miserably, and only manages a subtle grimace.

  
    “You don’t have to do that,” Alex immediately insists, and her hands stretch out to try to snatch the bag back, but Tobin shuffles away from her, a hand moving to guard the strap on her shoulder, a smirk on her lips.

  
    “It’s really no trouble, striker,” She tells her, and the use of her nickname almost freezes her to the spot, because where Tobin has always used the term in times of utmost affection, the way the word slips off her tongue now makes Alex feel sick.

  
    “Okay,” She tells her, giving in to both Tobin and her own exhaustion, and she follows her blindly out of the airport, to where they have been instructed to wait for a van to come and collect them.

  
    They find a large collection of their teammates waiting as well, and it relaxes Alex immediately when Sydney sees her and squeals in excitement, crashing into her full force, and the girl’s commotion as well as Abby stepping forward to greet her successfully separates her from Tobin, and she can breathe again for a little while.

  
    She catches sight of her a little while after, laughing with Lauren and Amy, all smiles and good nature, but it takes a turn when Amy leaves them to greet Christie and Lauren points to Alex’s bag, still sitting on Tobin’s shoulder, and she watches that same hardness creep back into Tobin’s eyes, watches the conversation between the two of them heat up rather quickly.

  
    She makes her way over to them immediately, laces her arm between Tobin’s and smiles brightly up at Lauren, and the argument that was quickly coming to a head dies off as Tobin relaxes considerably.

  
    The vans come after a little while of pleasant conversation, in which she sticks close to Tobin, watches her carefully.

  
    She follows Tobin into her van of choice without question, and tries to pretend that Lauren’s look of concern is nothing more than friendly curiosity.

  
    When her eyes move to Tobin’s form, rigid and stiff next to her, it’s a lot harder to pretend.

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex ends up rooming with Syd, but it’s not enough to keep Tobin away.

  
    There’s a knock on her door the first night, and Alex groans from her place beneath the sheets of her bed, because it’s ridiculous that Sydney has already lost her room key.  
    She opens the door and it’s not Syd that’s there, but Tobin, her eyes full of fire, and Alex fights the urge to slam the door on her.

  
    “Can I come in?”

  
    She steps aside wordlessly, and watches with untrusting eyes as the midfielder steps into her room.

  
    It’s not quiet for long.

  
    Tobin whirls about to face her, and while the fire is still thick within the dark brown of her eyes, it’s not of anger, but sadness.

  
    “Did I do something wrong?” She asks, and it’s the first time that Alex contemplates that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mean to forget about her.  
    She takes a deep breath and lets it out as a soft sigh.

  
    “Because, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. But I don’t—” She cuts herself off, takes a steadying breath when her voice hitches ever so slightly, “I don’t know what I did. I thought, when I came to visit, I thought it was…” Her voice trails off and she just stares up at Alex, her eyes wide and lost, and something inside of Alex sinks.

  
    She sits down on Sydney’s bed, and Tobin copies her, sitting on Alex’s bed and facing her.

  
    “It wasn’t when you came to visit me,” Alex tells her, “That was…” She lets herself trail off as well. If Tobin doesn’t have the words for it yet, she certainly isn’t going to offer her own.

  
    “I just…” Alex doesn’t know where to begin, and that’s when it hits her.

  
    She doesn’t know.

  
    Sure, she has the scenarios to back up her feelings. She could tell Tobin about the unanswered phone calls, the unreturned text messages, the late calls to Lauren crying because people that weren’t herself were picking up Tobin’s phone.

  
    Yet, the more Alex thinks on it, the stupider she feels.

  
    She doesn’t have the right to demand Tobin change the way she lives. She had told her from the very start who she was, hadn’t tried to hide or keep it from her.

  
    Tobin liked to wander, and that included away from Alex.

  
    Especially when she hadn’t given her a reason not to.

  
    “I’m sorry, Tobin,” She tells her suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, watching the uncertainty in Tobin’s eyes lessen, “I—” _didn’t think you missed me_ tries to slip past her teeth, but she stops it.

  
    She’s done being selfish, she thinks.

  
    “I really missed you.” Comes out instead, and Alex knows it to be right by the way Tobin’s eyes melt into soft pools, by the way they shine when they look at her.

  
    She chooses to go to Tobin—not the other way around—for the first time, moving up from Sydney’s bed and crossing the small gap of distance between them.

  
    Tobin welcomes her with open arms, draws them around her waist and pulls her into her, holds onto her tightly when she wraps her arms around her neck and breathes her in.

  
    “I missed you too, striker,” Tobin tells her gently, her breath tickling the outer shell of Alex’s ear, and for the first time in months Alex feels good again.

  
    She presses a kiss to Tobin’s lips before reason can stop her, pecks her sweetly, as if to say hello, before she pulls back and just grins.

  
    Tobin’s smile matches her own, and Alex has never felt as warm or as whole as she does in that moment.

 

     In the safety of her arms, it's enough, right then, for them both to be at fault.

  
    Then Tobin kisses her again, and another time after that, and everything fades happily away.

 

    Things don't stay that way.

  
                    - End of Part One -  
  



	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get mature

Alex watches the WPS draft from her apartment, surrounded by her Cal-bear teammates.

  
    They’d taken to Alex’s rise to the senior national team with quite a large degree of adoration, despite the fact that it left them without their best striker for prolonged periods of time.

  
    Alex made up for it by hugely impacting the team every time she returned—even with her multitude of absences, she had lead her team in scoring every year she had spent at Berkeley, and she wasn’t about to change that.    

  
    The team had happily come when she had called, and it had been a nice change from the rigors that the national team placed upon her.

  
    Back in college, she was _the_ Alex Morgan again, a dominant, unstoppable force on the playing field, a player with grit and force and constant speed, one who would find the back of the net nine times out of ten.

  
    Back in college, no one ever forgot to text her back.

  
    No one declined her calls.

  
    They had packed into her apartment, dressed in the bright yellows and soft navy’s of their Cal-bear soccer hoodies, and had crowded around her tiny TV to watch history be made.

  
    She can’t help the pride she feels when she watches the camera turn to find Lauren and Kelley and, of course, Tobin, all wide smiles and shining eyes.

  
    This is huge for women’s soccer, sure, but it’s also huge for them, for their lives.

  
    This is their dreams coming true on a whole new level.

  
    Most of all, this is Tobin’s silent confirmation to Alex that yes, she will be staying in the U.S, that she won’t be spreading her wings and flying back to France the second Alex grows used to having her around.

  
    She’s with Tobin when she first gets the offer from Paris Saint-Germain.

  
    The midfielder’s gotten better at visiting Alex. She doesn’t run off to the beach the instant she gets the chance, doesn’t run out and grab food alone anymore, doesn’t fall asleep in random parts of Alex’s tiny apartment, and doesn’t scare the living daylights out of Alex when she finds her the next morning, sound asleep on one of her high rise window sills.

  
    She comes as often as she can, which is surprisingly frequent. She still travels maniacally, bouncing around the globe like an eager kangaroo, high as a kite off the rush that exploration gives her.

  
    She’s learned to give Alex a string though, and when she pulls on it hard enough, Tobin floats back down to be with her.

  
    They’re laying in Alex’s bed three days into Tobin’s visit when her phone rings at ten at night. It’s a usual occurrence, happening more often than not, but Tobin usually just groans and declines the call and falls back into a restless slumber.

  
    This time, she shoots up like she’s been electrified, almost knocking Alex on the head as she tries to untangle herself from the sheets and grab her phone simultaneously.

  
    “I’ll be right back,” She says quickly, and then Alex gets to watch her dark silhouette leave the room, gets to listen to her bare feet against the old, creaking wood of her apartment’s hallway as she rushes out into the living room and probably locks herself in a closet or something.

  
    Alex falls somewhat asleep, quickly growing tired of waiting for her return, but jolts awake when she comes racing back down the hallway, giddy and giggling.

  
    Alex doesn’t have time to move herself before Tobin launches herself onto the bed, and if she wasn’t awake before, she definitely is now.

  
    Tobin kisses her before she can question her, her lips soft and eager as they cover her own, and it makes Alex laugh until kissing becomes impossible, and she pushes the long limbed girl back so she has a chance of sitting up, her hands rubbing wearily at her eyes.

  
    “I just got a phone call,” Tobin tells her in a rush, and Alex can feel the way she’s shaking—all happy and without control.

  
    “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed,” Alex chuckles in amusement, her hands moving to rub at where she thinks Tobin’s shoulders might be. It’s too dark to see in the room—Tobin spent fifteen minutes pulling the curtains in different ways until they agreed with her—and her hands land on Tobin’s collar bones instead, not that the older girl complains.

  
    Tobin leans against the pressure obediently, presses a chaste kiss to Alex’s jaw when she rubs her thumbs along the smooth bones.

  
    “And whose call was it that managed to drag you up from out of bed?” Alex asks her through a yawn, when Tobin grows more content to kiss at her skin then answer her questions.

  
    Tobin pulls away from her, but Alex can still feel the wide smile that spreads across her lips.

  
    “Paris Saint-Germain wants me,” Tobin tells her simply, with pride, and then as if the information is just too fantastic to warrant against such an action, she attacks Alex’s neck again, her lips warm and demanding.

  
    It takes Alex a couple of seconds to place the name, but once it registers in her tired mind, she freezes from her place underneath Tobin.

  
    Playing for PSG means playing in Paris.

  
    Alex doesn’t understand. In two months, Tobin is guaranteed to be drafted top ten into the new WPS league. Ever since her graduation from UNC she’d been the talk of the town on where she’d chose to play her club soccer. The creation of the WPS had gone hand in hand with her search, and she, as well as all other senior collegiate national team members, had been told that they wouldn’t have to look very far for a club team.

  
    Of course, the draft would still place her far away from Alex.

  
    But not as far away as France would.

  
    Tobin feels her still underneath her and stops her advances, her body pulling back to sit a short distance from her, suddenly motionless.

  
    They sit like that for a moment, Alex staring into nothing but darkness, until Tobin shifts and clicks on the light, and Alex is met with her confused gaze.

  
    “You’re not happy for me,” Tobin says immediately, and as much as Alex tries to deny it, there’s an accusatory tone to her voice that makes her feel small, “Why aren’t you happy for me?” She continues, and there’s an exasperation there too that just serves to make Alex angry.

  
    She pushes Tobin completely off of her with a light shove to her chest.

  
    “I’m happy for you. Why wouldn’t I be? ” She asks her, but her tone is a bit more biting than she intends it to be.

  
    She watches Tobin wilt in front of her and wishes, just for a moment, that she could maybe take the bite in her words back.

  
    Tobin, as always, hardens right up.

  
    “I can’t believe you,” She says immediately, a good deal hurt, but now just mostly incensed, “This is huge for me!”

  
    “No, I can’t believe you,” Alex responds suddenly, before she really has much time to think, “You’re going to be drafted, Tobin. You’re going to get to play here, in your own country. Why would want to leave that?” Alex demands.

  
     _Why would you want to leave me?_ doesn’t quite make it out.

  
    Tobin scoffs.

  
    “You can’t be serious right now,” She tells her immediately, and sits up a little straighter, the frown on her face distinct, “You’re telling me that if you had the choice between a brand new, unestablished club and a club that’s been around since basically the creation of professional soccer, you wouldn’t chose the better club?” Tobin questions her angrily, fire in her eyes.

  
    Alex fights the urge to just roll over, shut off the lamp and go to sleep.

  
    “You’re asking me?” She says tiredly, her arms crossing about herself as the room grows cold.

  
    Tobin gives her a stiff nod.

  
    “I’d stay, Tobin. I’d stay for my country, I’d stay for my family, I’d—” _stay for you_.

  
    Alex isn’t about to make anymore mistakes tonight.

  
    “I’d stay and help further soccer here in the U.S. Of course I wouldn’t leave.”

  
    Silence engulfs them after that, and no more is said on the topic. All of Tobin’s excitement has long since died off, and Alex is too exhausted to continue the conversation. She has soccer practice in the morning, and a game in three days to prepare for.

  
    And Tobin has a decision to make.

  
    She rolls over and shuts off the light, nestles deep under the covers, and pretends not to care when Tobin snatches up the spare blanket and stalks back down the hallway.

  
    It’s the first time Tobin’s ever left her before she’s fallen asleep, the first time the warm presence of the tanned midfielder hasn’t coaxed her into sweeter dreams.

  
    And if she chooses to go off to Paris, it most certainly won’t be the last.

  
    The next morning when Alex wakes up, Tobin’s dressed and in the doorway, a green mug of tea in her hands.

  
    When Alex looks to her right, there’s another steaming cup on her bedside table.

  
    She sits up and grabs it, her eyes moving to her alarm clock to make sure she hasn’t overslept.

  
    Once she confirms the fact her eyes move back to Tobin, waiting and watching.

  
    She tries to pretend she doesn’t see her orange suitcase, all packed and ready and waiting by her feet.

  
    She doesn’t say anything, just sips her tea and waits for Tobin to speak.

  
    The twenty-three year old isn’t all that eager to share, but eventually the words do come.

  
    “They want me to come immediately, to check out the club while it’s still in preseason. They want me to train with them for a little while,” Tobin tells her, breathlessly, talking more in the direction of her tea and shoes than at Alex.

  
    Alex just sips her own tea for a while, quietly, trying to calm the sea of emotions in her chest.

  
    “You’re going to go,” She says simply after a moment.

  
    For the first time, her apartment really does feel too small. Tobin feels too close, the weight of her eyes on her too heavy.

  
    “I’m coming back,” She says immediately.

  
     _Bullshit._

  
    Alex fixes her with a sad gaze, allows her lips to pull into a soft smile.

  
    “I thought you didn’t tell lies, Toby,” She says gently.

  
    If her words have any affect on Tobin, she doesn’t show it, just crosses the threshold of the room and moves to stand over her.

  
    She kisses her goodbye, and Alex lets her.

  
    “I’m coming back,” She tells her again.

  
    Then she leaves, and Alex throws herself into soccer like never before.   

   
    She kills it in practice, and three days later, scores herself a hat trick and an assist in a game that was suppose to be the most difficult of the season.

  
    Tobin texts her afterwards.

  
   _From The Coolest Per…: That’ll do, striker. Not bad at all._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: I like it here._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: You’d like it here too._

  
    Her team mates laugh and joke about what’s gotten into her.

  
    Alex bites back the words that it’s not what’s gotten into her, it’s what’s left her.

  
    A week later, Tobin’s back on her doorstep, orange suitcase in hand.

  
    Her eyes are brighter, filled with life, her smile wide, as if she didn’t just pack up and fly across an ocean.

  
    “You came back,” Alex says when she greets her, more surprised than ever before.

  
    Tobin offers her a small shrug as they walk inside.

  
    “You’re right. I was being stupid,” She says after a moment.

  
    “I’m going to stay. Paris can wait,”

  
    Alex’s heart soars for reasons she can’t exactly explain, and she finds herself blinking back tears.

  
    She rewards Tobin with as many kisses as she can think to give her, and the midfielder laughs and gathers her up against her, holds her tight.

  
    “You’re going to stay,” Alex repeats back to her, confirming, and Tobin grins down at her, presses a small kiss to her nose.

  
    “Yup. Just you and me now, striker,” She tells her, and there’s a certain affection there that makes Alex melt.

  
    “And soccer,” Alex reminds her playfully.

  
    “And soccer,” Tobin agrees.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin Heath gets drafted first overall in the 2010 WPS college draft by the Atlanta Beat, and Alex has never been prouder of another person before the way she is in that moment of Tobin.

  
    The television doesn’t even begin to do her justice, but she still looks beautiful as she stands, one big smile, and hugs her way up onto the stage.

  
    Alex’s teammates are filled with applause, and she just can’t help it, she takes her hand and points at Tobin and smiles.

  
    “That’s Tobin,” She tells them, like they don’t already know, “We play together on the national team. She’s my—” Alex searches long and hard for a description of just what Tobin is to her, because it’s been a year and a half of kisses and visits and promises between them, and she still really doesn’t know.

  
    “She’s my best friend,” Alex tells them, a smile on her face.

  
    And under the approval and praise and congratulations of her Cal-bear teammates, it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

  
                    - - -

  
    If Alex’s performance for her collegiate team is phenomenal, then the way Tobin shows up for the Atlanta Beat is simply inspiring.

  
    Everyone had expected her to make an impact no matter where she went, but her performance isn’t just impactful.

  
    She doesn’t play in the midfield, she _becomes_ the midfield.

  
    It makes it a little difficult for Alex to watch, because when she turns on the games to observe and witnesses Tobin’s all out endeavor and heart, its hard to then watch the team lose.

  
    Tobin puts in constant 90-minute efforts to no avail, and Alex knows it gets to her, because the longer the games run scoreless on their end, the more frantic and wild her play becomes.

  
     _To The Coolest Per…: You were incredible tonight._

  
_To The Coolest Per…: Don’t be so hard on yourself._

  
    It’s even more difficult when, just out of curiosity, Alex opens up the team standings for PSG and finds they haven’t lost a game this season.

  
    She watches one of their games—just out of curiosity, she promises herself—and it only hurts that much more when she sees the lack of creativity in their midfield, the void of the freedom and energy that Tobin would no doubt have brought.

  
    PSG is a defensive monster with a dangerous attack, and they were right to seek out Tobin, who would have turned the midfield into her playground and the team into a powerhouse.

  
    Alex wonders if it’s wrong for her not to care.

  
    When Tobin texts her back a little heart and asks her to come and see one of her games, all thoughts of PSG and how good it would be for Tobin leave her completely.

  
     _To The Coolest Per…: Of course I’ll be there._

  
    Tobin welcomes her with open arms when she arrives, and eagerly takes her around and introduces her to the team.

  
     Alex already knows a few of them from the national team, but a lot of them are new and revered faces in women’s soccer.

  
    She’s surprised when they know her name.

  
    “Oh, Tobin never shuts up about you,” They tell her with affection, and she can’t help the happy giggle that bubbles past her lips when Tobin blushes a deep red.

  
    They talk to her a lot about the senior national team, and her goals after her collegiate career ends.

  
    The more Tobin talks to her about it, the easier it is for her to see herself playing professionally, not just for country, but for club too.

  
    And she knows that it would be perfect. She’d be the shining forward of the Atlanta Beat, and Tobin would be her midfielder, and they would be unstoppable, and Tobin would never again even dare to dream of leaving the U.S and Alex behind.

  
    PSG would have nothing to offer Tobin, would have no way of taking her away.

  
    When she watches them play FC Gold Pride, it only confirms her desire.

  
    Tobin gives another brilliant performance, again to no avail, but it doesn’t matter. In a year, Alex will be playing alongside her, and they’ll be winning left and right, and then they’ll be on to the World Cup and the Olympics, and everything will fall into place.

  
    And then Tobin tears the ligaments in her ankle straight across, in a neat little line, and everything is ruined.

  
    Alex is back in Cali, recovering from a game against Stanford, knocked out on the couch with cold Chinese food when her phone rings.

  
     _Incoming call from The Coolest Per…_

  
    She answers the phone immediately, a smile making it’s way onto her face. It’s not often that Tobin calls her, and it’s a welcome surprise.

  
    “Hey Toby,” She says, smiling into the screen of her phone, and she’s met with a soft chuckle on the other end, “How’d your game go?”

  
    There’s an awkward pause, a sharp intake of breath.

  
    “Hey striker,” Tobin responds, and her voice is a little shaky, a little unsure, “Um, can you come?” There’s a shudder to her voice, a tremble that Alex can’t place.

  
    She sits up straight from her place on the couch, ignoring the soreness of her muscles as she frowns.

  
    “Of course, I’ve got a break in two weeks, I could come down for the weekend and we could—”

  
    “No, no I mean now. Can you come now?” She asks her, and there’s a panicked urgency that has her heart beating faster, and if she didn’t know before, she definitely knows now.

  
    Something’s happened to Tobin Heath, something bad.

  
    In confirmation, two hundred miles away from her, Tobin starts crying into the phone.

  
    “Tobin,” Alex’s voice shakes as well, from fear of the unknown, “Tobin what’s happened? What have you done?”

  
    “Please come, Alex,” Tobin sobs, and Alex has never witnessed her come undone like this, “Please, please come.”

  
    She flies into Atlanta the next morning after begging her head coach, claiming a pretense of a family emergency, and takes a taxi to Tobin’s large apartment, which she shares with three other people.

  
    Lauren Cheney opens the door for her, and scares the absolute daylights out of her.

  
    In hindsight, she should have known that Tobin would call Lauren too.

  
    She stands in front of her like a fish out of water, mouth wide open, trying to explain herself, trying to come up with some way to normalize the fact that she just flew cross country at the drop of a hat simply because Tobin had asked her too.

  
    Lauren shortens her suffering, cuts it off before she can even begin to form words.

  
    “It’s okay, Alex,” She tells her gently, a certain sadness in the blue of her eyes that has Alex’s stomach rolling, “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

  
    She hugs her warmly, carefully, her hand rubbing her back, and Alex doesn’t know how but it works, soothing away her fears in a way that few other people can.

  
    It’s a Lauren thing, she supposes. She’s good with people, her relationship with Tobin confirms it.

  
    “I have to get on a flight. I just didn’t want to leave her with no one, you know?” Lauren asks her, and Alex nods her head frantically, still very caught off guard, very uncertain.

  
    “It’s okay, Alex,” She tells her again, and it’s then that Alex starts believing her.

  
    “Yeah, right, okay,” She mimics back to Lauren, and tries her best to smile, to calm her beating heart.

  
    “Just be careful with her, please,” She tells her, and then she’s gone, bag in hand, a quick kiss on her cheek.

  
    Alex finds Tobin pretty quickly after that, and doesn’t hold back when she asks her closer.

  
    “It’s ruined,” Tobin tells her from behind red rimmed eyes as they both examine her foot, carefully packed up inside a large plastic boot, intent to protect it, “They can’t fix it without surgery,” She says, and Alex shudders.

  
    Surgery is a dirty but well used word in the soccer industry. Surgery means rehab, and rehab can go on for months, sometimes years.

  
    It most definitely doesn’t fit into Tobin’s schedule. She has a league championship she should be battling for, and in less than a year, a World Cup roster to make.

  
    “I was so stupid,” Tobin says, and then tears are brimming up within her honey eyes once more, “So stupid, and so mad. I just wanted us to win for once,” She tells her, and it just about breaks Alex’s heart.

  
    “Oh Tobin,” She says softly, and reaches out to her like she might a wounded animal, with caution and sadness and pity, “This isn’t your fault. Nothing could have prevented this from happening,” She tells her, trying to soothe her.

  
    “You’re wrong,”

  
    Tobin’s eyes are fiery, angry, her jaw clenched.

  
    “I should have gone to Paris,” She says then, and it’s a bit of a slap in the face for Alex.

  
    She reels back, rather shocked as Tobin stares her down.

  
    “This wouldn’t have happened if I had gone to Paris,” She says again, with a malice that makes Alex’s skin crawl.

  
    She feels like an idiot for coming.

  
    As she snatches a blanket rather roughly from Tobin and storms out to the couch, she feels even dumber for staying.

  
    A few hours later the dull thwack of her crutches hitting the wood of the apartment floor announces Tobin’s arrival. Alex doesn’t look at her, just curls up deeper into herself and tries to pretend she isn’t there.

  
    “Lex,” Tobin huffs out, rather exhausted from her injury and the effort required to move herself on only one leg, “I can’t pull the blanket back, but know that if I could I would,”

  
    Alex doesn’t answer her, doesn’t want to.

  
    “Alex please. I was out of line. Let me apologize to you,” She continues.

  
    Alex would probably have ignored her had she not violently slipped and fallen flat on her ass.

  
    She yelps in pain, and when Alex jumps up to assist her, her face burns bright red.

  
    “You know what, I take it back,” Tobin tells her from her place on the floor, sprawled out, “Just leave me here,”

  
    She doesn’t resist when Alex wraps her arms around her and pulls her up onto the couch, settling her down carefully, being mindful of her injured ankle.

  
    “I’m sorry,” She says immediately, and Alex listens to her despite her better judgment, “I shouldn’t have taken any of that out on you. It’s no ones fault,” She tells her.

  
    Alex just nods, gives her a fleeting glance. Her words from before still sting.

  
    “I love that you came here, you know that, right? You’re my best friend” Tobin tells her, nudges her softly with her elbow.

  
    Those words sting even more, but when she looks at Tobin and it’s her Tobin, the girl with soft eyes and a wide smile and a kind heart, she gives in and smiles back.

  
    “I’m scared,” She tells her in the darkness of the room, “I’m so scared, Alex. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Her voice is small.

  
    Alex pulls her against her, wraps her up and tries to calm the wild beating of her heart.

  
    “It’s going to be alright,” Alex doesn’t have any solutions, can’t even begin to think of any, but she does know one thing, and it’s that Tobin is quite a hard person to keep down.

  
    “Promise?” Her breath tickles Alex’s neck, and her grip on her grows a little stronger as she feels Tobin relax into her.

  
    “Yeah, I promise.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex goes back to California to finish her collegiate season, and Tobin stays in Atlanta, in support of her WPS team.

  
    Her surgery goes even better than expected, and her doctors promise her a good chance at full recovery if she takes care of her injury.

  
    If there is one plus side to Tobin’s injury, it is that it leaves her rather bored, and in her endless quest for something to do, Tobin ends up calling and texting Alex more frequently than ever before.

  
    It helps to brighten up her day when she comes back from a particularly grueling practice, or a rather hard workout, because Tobin fills her phone with stupid pictures and internet memes and TV show recommendations that span on and on for hundreds of messages at a time.

  
    And, even better, are the messages of meaning that Tobin sneaks in-between her sent articles on 2011’s best up coming video games and a photo set of a hedgehog that tours the world.

  
     _From The Coolest Per…: I think we should take a trip together._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Once my foot heals, before the World Cup._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Also, you should come visit._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Or I should come visit you._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Idk. I miss you._

  
    Alex doesn’t know what they are or how to feel, but when she reads things like that, everything just seems to make sense.  
    Tobin’s her best friend.

  
     _To The Coolest Per…: Yes, yes and yes._

  
   _To The Coolest Per…: I miss you too._

  
                    - - -

  
    Then Tobin starts weight-bearing, her ankle starts to feel a lot better, and Alex is back to dark screens and unanswered messages.

  
    It hurts a little more this time, and for a lot longer.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin comes to visit and doesn’t exactly give Alex much warning.

  
    It’s four in the afternoon on a rainy Sunday, and Alex has just finished washing off the sweat from the day’s practice when her phone buzzes from her bedside table, and at first she thinks she reads the message wrong.

  
     _From The Coolest Per…: Please open the door._

  
Alex just shrugs her shoulders, a little confused but unfazed. It’s not uncommon for Tobin to occasionally send her messages meant for the eyes of others. She clicks her phone off and flops down onto the bed, intent to catch a quick nap, when again her phone screen brightens up the darkness of the room.

  
     _From The Coolest Per…: It is very cold out here. And wet._

  
    She ignores it again, simply not in the mood to deal with Tobin’s mistakes, but her phone persists.

  
_From The Coolest Per…: I am 65% sure you’re in there. Plz open up._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: It’s a little cruel to do this to the handicapped, no matter how temporary._

  
    Alex eventually gives in with a roll of her eyes and a loud sigh, and snatches up her phone to give a quick reply.

  
     _To The Coolest Per…: Wrong person, Toby._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Oh okay, sorry. Guess I just accidentally flew to California. I’ll go back home._

  
    Alex shoots up from her bed like she’s been shocked and races her rapidly speeding pulse to the door.

  
    When she throws it open, Tobin’s there.

  
    It’s the most pathetic she’s ever seen her. She’s balanced very awkwardly on the two points of her crutches, her booted leg pressed close against the door frame in order to shield it from the rain.

  
    She’s soaked through, the soft grey of her light sweater sticking against the tan of her skin, the blue of jeans dark and heavy from the rain.

  
    Her hair forms in neat little dark ringlets, perfectly round water droplets clinging to the ends.

  
    Her face is flushed from the cold, her cheeks a rosy red, and her lips are pale pink, slightly chapped.

  
    Yet even wet as a dog, and shivering on her front step, she’s the most beautiful person Alex has ever seen, and when she finally meets the warm, liquid honey of her eyes, she smiles her usual wide smile, and Alex can’t stop the heavy beat of her heart in response.

  
    Alex can’t really help herself.

  
    She steps out into the rain, uncaring of her current attire—her dark blue shirt is too thin, her black shorts too small for such weather—and pulls the soaked girl up against her, pushing her weight from the crutches onto her own body, and kisses her deeply.

  
    Tobin smiles against her lips, and the crutches clatter to the ground when she wraps her arms around Alex’s shoulders and lets her hold her up.

  
    Tobin is warm despite being wet, and Alex isn’t shy about fitting her body against her own, about filling spaces that might have otherwise remained empty had the situation been different.

  
    Tobin let’s her do as she pleases, hums contently against the softness of her mouth and stays good and still.

  
    Against her chest, where Alex can feel her own heart beat wildly, she feels Tobin’s flutter to join her own.

  
    She stops when Tobin’s shivers become pronounced, pulls back and rests her forehead on against the midfielders.

  
    “Tobin.” She murmurs happily, her voice low, thick, and she thinks she’d never move from that spot if it wasn’t for the trembling of the girl in her arms.

  
    Tobin knows she’s done something right and the width of her smile never lessens, her hands stay anchored to Alex’s shoulders, keeping them close.

  
    “Hey Lex,” She says into the side of Alex’s neck, draws a soft line along it with the tip of her nose, and Alex can’t help the shudder of pleasure that courses through her, “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

  
    She kisses the smirk from Tobin’s face.

  
    “I’ll manage.”

  
                    - - -

  
    They cuddle up in the sheets of Alex’s bed to watch Netflix after they’ve both dried off.  There is, for once, no rush to run off and do something.

  
    They get reacquainted instead.

  
    Tobin’s dressed in Alex’s clothes—a soft white t-shirt and a spare pair of blue under armor shorts—and it’s a sight Alex could definitely get used to.

  
    Tobin lets Alex snuggle up to her versus the other way around; She still doesn’t have good maneuverability with her injured leg, and manages to hit Alex with her boot every time she moves. Alex stills her, runs her hands down her sides and then draws her in gently, resting her hands at her waist and pressing her head into her back.

  
    She likes to listen to Tobin breath. The smooth rhythm and contraction of the muscles nearly coaxes her into sleep, only the noise of her laptop and Tobin’s occasional chuckles keeping her conscious.

  
    She draws soft patterns into the midfielder’s back, mapping out the lengths and lines of her muscles, enjoying the firm togetherness of the girl’s body.

  
    She hasn’t been this close to anyone in a long while.

  
    Eventually the nagging questions that always accompany Tobin’s visits worm their way into her head and refuse to leave, so she shifts herself up and presses a small kiss to the corner of the girl’s jaw, prompting her attention.

  
    The low, content and lazy hum that Tobin responds with almost convinces Alex to leave well enough alone.

  
    Almost.

  
    “What are you doing here, Tobin?” She asks the outline of her shoulder, first her eyes tracing over the strength of her bicep, and then her fingers.

  
    Tobin tries to shift towards her and it’s awkward. It takes too many movements, too many pauses—and she does tap Alex lightly on the ankle with her boot—but eventually she manages to turn herself around and face her.

  
    “I wanted to see you,” Tobin tells her, “So I came,”

  
    It’s not exactly the answer Alex is looking for, and it frustrates her a little. Tobin takes note of her frown, and reaches out with a gentle finger to push up at the corner of her mouth.

  
    “Hey,” Tobin says softly, and it calls Alex’s eyes back to her own, “Don’t do that,” And there’s an urgency to her voice, a pleading.

  
    Alex wishes it could be enough, that it could fill her uncertainties with assurance, but it isn’t, won’t ever be.

  
    She doesn’t tell Tobin that.

  
    Instead she leans into her, until she edge of her nose brushes hers, and delights in the way Tobin’s eyes light up, in the way she pulls her closer.

  
    Tobin’s kisses are a little sweeter after that, and a little more wandering. Her lips find the warmth of her pulse points and lavish them, occasionally leaving behind marks that won’t immediately fade.

  
    It’s with enough intensity to make Alex want more than just her kisses, and when Tobin’s hands move beneath her shirt to press against the firmness of her stomach, to frame the set of her hips, to count the lines of her ribs, she thinks that maybe she’ll actually get it.

  
    Tobin breaks their last kiss with a gentle peck to her cheek and pulls her hands back to herself, her fingers smoothing down her pushed up shirt before removing themselves completely from her, and she rolls back around to face the laptop once more.

  
    Alex sighs and goes back to tracing patterns with her fingertips beneath her shoulder blades, wishing Tobin would turn back to her, knowing she won’t.

  
                    - - -

  
    She’s cleaning up in the kitchen the next morning, Tobin still snoozing away in her bed, when her phone rings and it’s Lauren.

  
    “Hey Cheney, what’s up?” She asks her phone, happy to hear from her teammate again.

  
    Lauren gets right to the point.

  
    “Hey Al, have you heard from Tobin lately?” There’s a note of stress to Lauren’s voice, a tone she doesn’t like.

  
    “What?” Her eyes move down the hall, to where she knows the girl sleeps, “Why?”

  
    “It’s kind of a long story, Alex, but I’m at her apartment and her roommates say she hasn’t been there in days and I just need to know if you’ve seen her? I’ve been calling her for days now and she isn’t picking up and I’m starting to get worried,” Lauren’s voice is rushed and panicked and unhappy, and Alex’s heart sinks.

  
    “She’s here,” She admits slowly, uncertainly, “She’s been here since yesterday,”

  
    There’s a long moment of silence from Lauren’s line, one where Alex listens to her take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  
    “She’s with you?” Lauren asks her.

  
    Alex doesn’t bother reaffirming, just stays quiet on her end and waits.

  
    After another long moment, Lauren speaks again.

  
    “Can you put her on, Alex? Is she nearby?”

  
    Alex hesitates, uncertain and partially unwilling. She doesn’t like whatever Lauren has to say, doesn’t want herself or Tobin to hear it.

  
    “She’s sleeping,” She says softly into the phone.

  
    “Can you wake her up?”

  
    Alex walks rather slowly down the hallway to her room, opens the door and looks in.

  
    She doesn’t want to wake Tobin up.

  
    The tanned midfielder sleeps stretched out amongst the sheets, her injured leg curled close to her body, her hair soft and fanned out across the pillows.

  
    Lauren coughs into the phone, reminds Alex of her presence, and she resigns herself to the task at hand.

  
    She wakes Tobin wordlessly with a hand pressed to her shoulder, ignoring the rush the soft fluttering of her eyelids gives her until they pull back and reveal warm brown eyes.

  
    Tobin smiles up at her sleepily, all white teeth and pink lips and long, stretching, languid limbs.

  
    Alex doesn’t smile back, just hands her the phone and leaves, closing the door behind her.

  
                    - - -

  
    She’s never heard Tobin yell before.

  
    It’s a lot louder than she had expected.

  
    She doesn’t try to overhear the conversation, but the apartment is too small for secrets, and they fly into the open whether she wants them to or not.

  
    “Stop telling me how to live my life,” Tobin’s voice echoes off the walls of the bedroom and bleed out in the living room, “You’re suppose to be on my side!”

  
    It’s an accusatory tone, one that Alex has trouble fathoming, because she can’t imagine Tobin so angry with anyone, never mind with Lauren.

  
    “I can’t do it, okay? I can’t. I won’t, not after everything that’s happened,”

  
    Tobin starts to move around the way she does when she gets anxious, her feet stomping against the hardwood of Alex’s floor.

  
    “It’s not like that at all, I can’t believe you would say that to me, that you would think that!” There’s a lot of fear in her voice as well, and it hurts Alex’s heart.

  
    “You’re wrong. It’s different this time. I know it is,” She’s adamant in the way she structures her argument, intense and convincing, “Why don’t you trust me anymore, why can’t you just believe me?”

  
    It starts to scare Alex, the course of the conversation. She wishes she hadn’t picked the phone up, wishes she had stayed next to Tobin and slept late into the afternoon in the depths of her arms.

  
    She could keep her safe there. But now, divided by the thin walls of her apartment, she’s on her own.

  
    “It’s not the same thing, Cheney. Why can’t you ever believe me?” Tobin would be begging if she wasn’t so angry, her voice loud and raw and hurt, _“She would never do that to me.”_

  
    That’s the final straw for Alex.

  
    She laces up her purple running shoes, pulls her hair up into a high ponytail, and doesn’t come back until she can’t run anymore.

  
                    - - -

  
    It’s very quiet when she walks into the apartment, and for one moment of dread, Alex thinks that Tobin’s somehow managed to pack her bags and crutch her way to the airport.

  
    The fear eases when Tobin shuffles her way down to her from her bedroom, the dull clack of her boot hitting against the floor and announcing her arrival.

  
    “Why’d you leave?” Tobin asks her, but Alex can tell she already knows the answer. She holds her phone in her hand uncertainly, and her head hangs with a certain amount of shame.

  
    “I, uh, didn’t want to intrude on…anything,” Alex tells her rather awkwardly, her hand rubbing awkwardly against the back of her neck.

  
    She’s sweaty and smells gross and just wants to take a shower, but Tobin doesn’t let her go.

  
    “I’m sorry,” She says then, and there’s an anguish in her eyes that lets Alex know she means it, “I didn’t think that would happen.”

  
    Alex nods once in affirmation, gives her a weak smile.

  
    “Yeah, me either,” She says, and then it’s quiet between them, but not necessarily uncomfortable. Across from her, Tobin starts to relax a little, her shoulders losing their square shape and height, her posture declining.

  
    “What was that about?” Alex tries tentatively.

  
    Tobin goes rigid, snapping to attention like she’s been shocked, and Alex tries to think of a way to take the words back but can’t.

  
    Tobin’s eyes shine brightly in the dim lightning, the warm honey of her eyes sharp and distinguished, dangerous again.

  
    “I…” She cuts herself off, on edge, and shuffles a few steps backwards. The effort almost puts her onto the floor—she forgets often that she’s in the boot, and that it hurts to stand certain ways—and she staggers, a hand reaching out to steady herself on the countertop.

  
    Alex is there before the countertop is, her hands moving to her hips, steadying her.

  
    “Hey there,” She tries to soothe, her voice as soft as she can make it. Tobin settles her arms on the tops of Alex’s shoulders and pulls herself upright and in, allowing Alex to hold her still.

  
    Alex can feel her shaking, can feel the uneven contractions of her breath.

  
    “Tobin,” She says simply, her hands holding firm to her, but the girl doesn’t meet her eye, just buries her head in the crevice of Alex’s shoulder as she starts to shake.

  
    Suddenly Tobin’s crying into her shoulder, and Alex doesn’t know what to make of the situation.

  
    She tries her best.

  
    She grabs the midfielder solidly around the middle and carries her back down the hallway and into the bed, the girl clinging to her all the way, refusing to release her.

  
    She sits her down gently, strokes the softness of her hair.

  
    “I’m suppose to be at a wedding,” Tobin eventually manages to choke out, “But I couldn’t make myself do it,” She whimpers, and it squeezes the cords of Alex’s heart.

  
    Alex pulls Tobin into her lap and she comes willingly, looking smaller than Alex has ever seen her, especially when her boot drags along the floor, too heavy for her to bother to lift the short distance.

  
    For a long while, Alex doesn’t say anything at all—doesn’t have any words to say.

  
    Tobin doesn’t seem to need her words. She drinks in her presence instead, keeping closer to her than Alex has ever felt.

  
    It’s the first time Alex actually feels like Tobin needs her, and she hates how happy it makes her feel, because Tobin is coming undone in her arms.

  
    But she’s in her arms, vulnerable and real, and it’s more than Alex had ever thought to ask for.

  
    Only when Tobin’s sobs turn to sniffles does she dare to ask anymore of her.

  
    “Is Cheney going to the wedding?” She asks her carefully, and relief flutters through her when Tobin pulls away a little from the wet spot she has made for herself on Alex’s neck to nod gently.

  
    “Y-yeah,” She shakes out between agonized breaths, “Cheney and Arod and Kelley and Ashlyn,” She tells her, and Alex, encouraged by her response, presses gently for more.

  
    “Did you want to go?” She asks her, and her hands rub softly at her back, encourage her to sit up and talk to her.

  
    Tobin finally pulls herself away from her neck with a rather loud sniffle, and wipes angrily at her eyes and nose, trying to calm her breathing as she nods once in confirmation.

  
    “Yeah, I did. And I thought I could,” She tells her, “But when I went to buy my plane ticket…” She doesn’t go on.

  
    “You came here,” Alex fills in for her.

  
    A somber silence fills the air around them as Tobin pulls away from her.

  
    When she looks up at Alex, she isn’t crying anymore. Her eyes have solidified from their liquid honey melts. They burn now, like raging fire, bitter and alive and churning. It takes Alex’s breath away, knocks it from her lungs before she can stop it.

  
    Her iris’ are huge and black as coal, and the few lights of the bedroom swim around the centers as her eyes track hers, careful and calculated.

  
    It’s sets Alex immediately on edge, wakes her up as her nerves send tingling sensations from her head to her toes, buzzing her into being.

  
    “I came here,” She says back, a single, almost curious statement, and it lights her up, illuminates her.

  
    Alex still hasn’t caught her breath when she seizes her jaw in her hand and pulls their lips together. There’s no fear in Tobin’s movements anymore, no sadness. She’s as confident as the first time, just as sure as the last, and Alex moves into the shape of her without question, obeying the pressure of her hands and lips without thought.

  
    There’s something different about this time, though. Alex can feel it in the furious energy that burns away just beneath Tobin’s surface, in the frantic beating of her own heart. Everything looks just a little too bright, especially Tobin’s eyes. They dance in and out of her field of vision, toying with her, entrancing her, pulling her further in than ever before.

  
    For a long moment, Alex can’t really process.

  
    Then Tobin’s hands ghost down her sides with practiced purpose and pull her shirt up and over her head, and Alex understands perfectly.

  
    She watches as the dark blue fabric lands on the floor, out of sight, out of mind, and then Tobin’s hands are on her.

  
    For a girl that currently only has the use of one leg, she proves herself to be surprisingly capable.

  
    She stands to her feet without swaying and snatches Alex by the undersides of her legs, using the leverage to push her further up the bed, away from the side.

  
    Her skin burns where Tobin touches her, excites her to points she can’t understand, but when Tobin leaves her sitting alone in the bed, her shirt stripped from her and her mind aware now of just how short her shorts really are, she feels a little afraid.

  
    She knows Tobin sees it by the wry twisting of her mouth into a smirk. She’s laughing at her, Alex knows, and it flushes her a bright red, makes her want to hide under the sheets away from her.

  
    She doesn’t get the chance. Tobin pulls her shirt off just as quickly as she had Alex’s and clambers up the bed to rest between her legs, and all thoughts of running leave her immediately.

  
    Tobin isn’t shy in her exploration.

  
    She leaves her lower half alone for now—Alex swallows gratefully, almost audibly—and her hands find the lengths of her arms and rub gentle lines along them, the friction raising the hairs Alex has there, warming her to her touch and presence.

  
    Their skin is about the same temperature when Tobin dares to move on, her touch like velvet as she feels her way along her collar bones, taking her time, her fingers feeling along the strength and shape of the bone.

  
    It feels good in a way Alex doesn’t expect, and she finds herself leaning closer, a hum of enjoyment building in the back of her throat.     

  
    Tobin grins brilliantly at the noise, her teeth a sharp off-white in the darkened room,  and she tilts forwards and kisses Alex strongly, with abandon, the edge of her finger moving to jilt her jaw towards her and support it.

  
    It’s in the midst of distraction that she does it. When her hand presses, spread and insistent at the hardness of her stomach, Alex can’t help the twitch of the muscles as they flex inwards, involuntarily, while Tobin’s fingers follow the movements studiously, curiously.

  
    She winds Alex up a bit like a clock, all take and no give, until Alex finally grows brave enough to touch back.

  
    It’s hesitant at first. Tobin without clothes is a Tobin that Alex has never seen before, and frankly, when she takes in the strength of her body and it’s movements, a bit daunting. But Tobin encourages her, shifts closer and trails warm kisses against her neck, and so she reaches out.

  
    It’s simple, nothing special, just a hand between her shoulder blades, keeping her close. She eventually grows bolder the longer Tobin continues to touch her, and that hand drifts around, until finally she gives in to her desires and presses not one but both hands against her rib cage.

  
    Tobin gives her rewards in kisses, some glancing off her jaw and the corner of her mouth, others finding their way to her shoulder and neck. It doesn’t serve to distract her from the skin she holds between her hands. Her contours are surprisingly soft there, the skin smooth and the grooves of bone and muscle even and compact. Tobin takes a breath for her, sucking deep into her lungs, and Alex can’t help but marvel at the firm movement as her body contracts and expands, filled with rhythm and pace and movement.

  
    She lets her hands wander as freely as Tobin’s after that. They play along the sharp edges of her hips and count the ridges of her spine. They run over the wide and flat muscles of her abdomen, and tickle across her sides until she squirms and reprimands her with a giggling smile and a chaste kiss.

  
    Just when she starts to get comfortable, Tobin crosses the final line.

  
    She starts off so slow and careful that Alex doesn’t realize it’s coming. She pays careful attention to the band of her shorts, but continues to stroke softly along her chest, her fingers playing carefully along the underside of her bra, her lips hunting a smooth path down her throat.

  
    She almost doesn’t feel it when she first moves her hand down to rest between her legs. She’s more focused on keeping track of Tobin’s other hand, of her lips, but then Tobin stills and—yes, she feels it.

  
    Warm and insistent, Tobin’s hand is gentle against her core, unrushed and almost leisurely. She doesn’t move it for a long while, just keeps it there—letting her get use to it, Alex reasons.

  
    Tobin pulls the focus of her mind away with kisses and gentle touches to her face, her teeth teasing her lip between them, her hand finding the softness of her cheek and curving to it’s shape.

  
    And when Alex lets her continue, she finally starts to move, very gently, through the fabric of her shorts, against her.

  
    Alex whimpers, low and hot with desire, and it startles her and surprises Tobin so much that her hand stills, that a wide smirk spreads across her face and a low chuckle escapes from between her teeth.

  
    This time Tobin really is laughing at her, and Alex turns red from as many parts anger as embarrassment.

  
    It ruins the feeling for her, and she goes to push Tobin off or just away—anywhere that’s not nearby, really—but Tobin ensnares her before she can get very far.

  
    She wrestles with her a little, lighthearted but firm in her efforts, and Alex fights her just as strongly.

  
    “No, no, no,” Tobin says gently, the smile still in her voice, “Don’t do that, it’s okay striker,” She tells her, and her voice is soothing instead of mean, easy instead of hard, “It’s okay,” She repeats as she settles her back down underneath her, and for some reason Alex believes her.

  
    She peppers her skin with kisses for a moment, reaffirming her previous message, and she keeps her hands decent for the moment, has them resting gently on the tops of her arms.

  
    She kisses her deeply then, opening Alex’s mouth to her own before drawing away.

  
    Her eyes are the color of ginger when she looks at Alex, liquid and alive, and she finds herself falling deeper into them the longer she stares her down.

  
    “Let me take care of you, please,” She husks into the soft shell of her ear, sealing the words with a kiss.

  
    Alex closes her eyes then, relaxes against the mattress and nods her head, takes a steadying breath when Tobin’s hand moves back to rest at the junction between her thighs.

  
    There aren’t a lot of words spoken after that.

  
    Only touches, kisses.

  
    Lips.

  
                    - - -

  
    Tobin doesn’t leave her once that night, not even for a moment.

  
    Instead, while Alex lies glowing and warmed and still in the place Tobin leaves her, the air cold on her bare skin, Tobin shuffles to grab the sheets from where she has discarded them and pulls them up and around them both.

  
    They settle gently over them in a white cloud, sticking to the sheen of their skin, and Alex quickly grows frustrated with the feeling and pushes them away.

  
    She pulls Tobin closer to keep her warm instead, her head pushing up against the center of her chest. She listens to the strong beat of her heart and breathes deeply, more content than she has ever been before.

  
    She’d spend forever in-between Tobin and the sheets without complaint if it could be this way every time.

  
    Tobin holds her with great care and attention. She strokes the hair that falls into her face away, traces her thumb across the curve of her cheek, runs a curious finger along her jaw.

  
    It’s nice, Alex reasons as she holds Tobin around the middle, her fingers playing over her hips, to be able to touch another without boundary.

  
    Different and new, but so very nice.

  
    When a bit of the afterglow wears off and Alex’s thoughts return to her, she remembers the crying and the problem at hand and frowns ever so slightly.

  
    She doesn’t care for intrusions, but she does care about Tobin, so she indulges them.

  
    “Tobin?” She asks her gently, and the girl opens an eye at her lazily, her mouth stretching into a yawn.

  
    “Wassup Lex,” She hums sleepily into the crook of her neck, her eyelids fluttering.

  
    Alex tries to smile, and her hands move to run over the smoothness of her shoulder blades.

  
    “Whose wedding is it?” She asks gently.

  
    Tobin doesn’t freeze, but she does still, and her eyes open to stare back at Alex.

  
    For a while, Alex doesn’t expect any answer at all, but eventually one does come, pressed into the skin of her neck where it’s almost too low to hear.

  
    “Casey’s,” Tobin tells her, and Alex feels the tension in the words, notes the stiffening of Tobin’s body, the withdrawal, “She was my best friend,” She says softly, with a tight sigh that Alex feels sink through her.

  
    “And now?”

  
    There’s a soft light that buzzes into Tobin’s eyes at the words, resilient and full.

  
    “Now I have you, Alex,” She tells her simply.

  
    It’s the closest thing to any sort of declaration of affection and love that Tobin Heath has ever given her.

  
    Alex takes what she can get.

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex wakes up the following morning expecting another brilliant day.

  
    Instead she finds Tobin awkwardly limping around the room, fully dressed, suitcase packed.

  
    Alex sits up slowly, disoriented, and just watches Tobin run about in awkward, staggered steps, searching for the things that belong to her. There’s a frantic movement to her step, a panic that Alex is scared to place.

  
    Tobin glances up at her as she wakes, but doesn’t say very much, just keeps rummaging around through her bag and then eventually through the piles of clothing that litter Alex’s floor.

  
    “I can’t find my wallet, Alex,” She tells her hurriedly.

  
    “Tobin?” Alex’s voice is questioning and laced heavily with sleep.

  
    “I need that wallet.”

  
    Loud thumping occurs under the bed and Tobin swears.

  
    Alex just sighs from her place on the bed, tries to smooth her hair back and make sense of things.

  
    “I don’t think it’s under the bed, Tobin.”

  
    Tobin crawls out from under the bed and sits on it with a defeated sigh, her head going to rest in her hands.

  
    “I fucked this up, Lex. I really fucked this up,” Tobin tells her, and Alex isn’t really sure what to make of it.

  
    “I don’t—” She starts off uncertainly, “I don’t understand,” She finally tells her, her brow furrowed.

  
    Tobin chuckles wryly.

  
    “That makes two of us,” She says, and then flops down onto her back with a groan, her body laying itself over Alex’s legs without hesitation.

  
    “Oh fuck. Cheney was right. Then again, she’s always right, isn’t she?” Tobin laughs bitterly, and Alex isn’t quite sure if she’s talking to her or to herself.

  
    “Tobin,” Alex says, a little more demanding, and the midfielder’s eyes shoot to her own obediently, “What are you talking about?”

  
    Tobin takes a deep breath, like there isn’t enough air in the world to fill her lungs for the words she needs to speak.

  
    “I have to go to this wedding,” She states matter-of-factly, her eyes big and filled with wonder, “I have to go right now.”

  
    Alex takes a minute to process, uncertain.

  
    She knows it isn’t fair to tell Tobin to stay. She can see it in her eyes that she needs it.

  
    Yet she likes what Tobin’s given her, doesn’t want her to take it away with her when she leaves, because she’ll still be happy, and Alex will be back to staring at blank screens.

  
    But those are selfish thoughts, and Alex doesn’t want to be selfish.

  
    “Okay,” She tells her simply, “Okay. Your wallets on the counter in the kitchen,” She tells her.

  
    Tobin presses a warm kiss to her lips in thanks and hops up, scurrying off to retrieve the missing object.

  
    Alex tries to fight the feelings of wrong that settle over her, tries to ignore her gut when it tells her not to let Tobin go, to keep her close at hand until she’s sure she’ll come back to her.

  
    But before she can reason any further, Tobin comes bounding back into the room, all big brown puppy eyes and wide smiles.

  
    “Thanks Lex. You’re the best,” She tells her, and her smile is warm and sweet and everything she loves about her.

  
    It makes her heart ache, just a little.

  
    “I’ll call you when I get there,” She promises her, and Alex wants to believe her more than anything.

  
    “I—” _want you to stay._

  
    Selfish thoughts, she thinks to herself.

  
    “I’ll be waiting,” She tells her softly.

  
    Tobin smiles and wraps her up in a tight hug.

  
    “I’ll be back before you know it, striker,” She tells her cheerfully and presses a soft peck to her mouth.

  
    Then Tobin’s gone as quick as she has arrived, and Alex is left alone again.

  
    She holds onto Tobin’s words and hopes that this time they will be enough to bring her back.

  
                    - - -

  
    Alex meets Servando Carrasco at her last Cal-Bear game of the season.

  
    They lose epically in the quarter-final to Notre-Dame, but that isn’t really what sets her off in the end.

  
    Tobin had promised she’d be back by then.

  
    Alex gets a phone call the day before she’s suppose to come back from the wedding, from a rather unaffected Tobin Heath, who says simply that, “something came up.”

  
    It boils her blood, infuriates her to the point where even her teammates back off of her.

  
    She’s so tired of this, of waiting and hoping for Tobin to come through for her.

  
    Alex expects something, anything at the very least, but Tobin gives her nothing.

  
    There’s a mass of text messages on her phone when she turns it on in the locker room, and none of them are from her.

  
    She has to stop herself from slamming the device against the ground, from making it shatter into a million pieces.

  
    She still goes out with her team. It’s the end of the season for them, the end of an era for her, and even if they don’t have very much to celebrate, at least Alex can drink as much as she wants without judgment.

  
    She’s nursing her fourth drink of the night—something disgusting that tastes faintly of apples—and staring blankly down at her phone when he shows up.

  
    He slides into the seat next to her like he wouldn’t dare be anywhere else, decked out in Cal colors, wearing a stupid grin, and it’s such a surprisingly Tobin thing to do that she thinks, for one crazed moment, that maybe she did come after all.

  
    Then she looks up and is met with light hazel eyes—not the soft brown she desires—and the little niggling hope that had welled up inside her heart dies.

  
    He takes note of her disappointment immediately, and laughs rather uncertainly.

  
    “Wow,” He says, and his voice is gentle and teasing, “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but that’s okay,”

  
    She tries to give him a smile, she really does, but frankly she’s had an awful day and trying is suddenly an impossible task.

  
    “Do I know you?” She asks him, and she cringes at how dull she sounds, how tired.

  
    His grin turns into a sad smile, and she feels even worse.

  
    She wants him to go away, wants to crawl home to her bed and stare at her phone, alone, until her body succumbs to sleep.

  
    “No, probably not. But I know you, Miss Morgan” He says boldly, unashamed, and his approach does manages to get Alex to crack a smile.

  
    “Servando Carrasco,” He tells her rather formally, his hand stretching out to her, “I play for Cal too,” He informs her, giving her a wink as she takes his hand and squeezes it once.

  
    Alex looks at his sports jacket in greater detail, and recognizes immediately the large gold bear on the front, and the boys soccer crest along the top, and suddenly his face seems just a little more familiar.

  
    “Oh!” She says after a moment, startled into realization, “You’re that junior, aren’t you? The one who is co-captain this year?” She asks him, and suddenly doesn’t feel so awful anymore, especially not when his eyes light up at her recognition and a smile spreads across his face.

  
    He has a nice smile, she thinks, warm and inviting and open.

  
        “That’s me,” He says rather modestly, with a small shrug of his shoulders, but it’s not enough for Alex as she finds herself returning his smile.

  
    “I’ve seen you play,” She tells him happily, enjoying the shining look that enters his eyes, “I saw your game against Duke. You were pretty incredible, actually,” She tells him, and notes with delight that a warm blush spreads softly across his cheeks.

  
    “Unfair representation,” He explains with a shy smile, “That was my best game of the season,” He says.

  
    Alex rolls her eyes at him playfully and purses her lips.

  
    “Well you picked a good game to show up,” She informs him, and can’t help the giggle that passes through her lips when his face heats up even more and he finds himself staring down at his shoes.

  
    “It was a team effort,” He insists, but she’s quick to cut him off.

  
    “No, actually it was you. But it’s cute that you want to think that,” She tells him.

  
    “Enough about me,” He cuts her off with a playful huff, a warm mirth playing about the dark depths of his eyes, “I came over here because I couldn’t resist a chance to talk to _the_ Alex Morgan, and all she wants to do is talk about me,”

  
    Alex sits back, a small smirk on her lips.

  
    “ _The_ Alex Morgan, huh?” She jests playfully, and gets immense satisfaction when eventually, even his ears turn a soft hue of red, “Wow. That’s quite a title you’ve given me there, Carrasco. I think I just grew an ego,” She teases him, and he laughs along with her without hesitation.

  
    “Oh boy,” He says after a moment, another easy smile on his face, “I just got myself in way over my head, didn’t I?”

  
    She folds her hands sweetly in front of her, her drink long forgotten, and gives him a pointed look.

  
    “Oh buddy, you have no idea.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Servando turns out to be a great friend.

  
    He is surprisingly capable at talking to her about things that do not involve soccer, which comes as a great relief to Alex. As much as she loves the sport, he offers her a much needed break from her endless thoughts on the game.

  
    And on certain midfielders who play the game with her.

  
    Servando turns out to be a midfielder himself, and at first it’s a little too much for Alex, but he proves himself to be so very different from Tobin’s style of play that, in the end, she forgets they play the same position.

  
    Tobin is all long strides and quick turns and incredibly fast feet, and Servando is her antithesis.

  
    He doesn’t command the ball’s obedience, he sweet talks it into staying close to him with quick, short touches. It’s a learned style of routine, one that dictates less creativity and greater focus, but Alex finds herself drawn to it.

  
    It’s different, but it’s a nice kind of different.

  
    They play a lot of pick up games together, Alex convincing some of her teammates to join in and Servando doing the same, and it’s an adjustment when they play together, but one she willingly makes.

  
    He doesn’t dance the ball around her ever, doesn’t make her uncertain with his movements, and his predictability allows her to set herself up where she needs to be every time.

  
    And when he serves the ball to her as she expects, she’s ready and waiting.

  
    It feels good when her foot connects and sends the ball flying into the net.

  
    When he runs to her side and picks her up in celebration, his arms warm and presence solid, it feels even better.

  
                        - - -

  
    She’s out to eat with Servando and a couple of her Cal-bear teammates when her phone buzzes and it’s Lauren.

  
    She’s starting to grow weary of the girl’s phone calls, but she’s curious as to why Tobin has yet to call her back, so she excuses herself from her friends and heads outside the restaurant to answer it.

  
    “Hey Cheney, what’s going on?” She asks her carefully, trying her best to sound warm.

  
    Lauren’s voice is anything but warm through the phone. She sounds stressed and unhappy, unsure.

  
    “Is Tobin with you?” She asks, and then there’s panic in her voice, and Alex’s stomach swoops down in an unsettling manner.

  
    “Why would Tobin be with me? She’s at the wedding,” She tells Lauren, confusion entering her tone, and uncertainty.

  
    There’s a slight lull in their conversation, a brief pause.

  
    “Shit,” She hears Lauren mutter through the phone, and very suddenly Alex wants to cry.

  
    “Cheney what’s wrong? What’s happened?” She tries to keep herself calm, tries to make sense of what is happening, but the longer Lauren keeps her silence the more little pieces of the puzzle start to connect within her mind.

  
    And then suddenly, everything makes sense to Alex.

  
    “That girl, Casey…” Alex starts and pauses, unsure how to continue. The lights of the city are resilient in the dark hours of the night. They blind her with their shine, distract her, and the wind blows uncharacteristically cold for the west coast climate it inhabits.

  
    “She wasn’t just Tobin’s friend, was she?” Her voice is small, a little shaky.

  
    There’s a great moment of hesitation from Lauren.

  
    “No, Alex,” She tells her gently, “No, she wasn’t,”

  
    The words don’t make immediate sense to Alex, but then the sting registers, the sharp pain of it, and Alex wants nothing more than to hang up the phone and pretend.

  
    Pretend that Tobin hadn’t used her, hadn’t left her, hadn’t made her feel so good only to take it all away.

  
    “Cheney,” Alex’s voice is a whimper, and she feels the soft tears start to gather at the corners of her eyes. They push angrily against her lids, demanding her to recognize them even as she attempts to hold them back.

  
    “She didn’t end up getting married, did she?” Alex tries to keep the hope out of her voice.

  
    This time, Lauren doesn’t hesitate.

  
    “No. She didn’t get married today.”

  
    It’s all Alex needs to hear. She takes a deep breath, tries to steady herself.

  
    “Goodbye Cheney,” She tells Lauren.

  
    “Alex, wait—” Alex hangs up before Lauren can say anymore and just stands there, staring at the phone in her hand, trembling.

  
    She starts crying before she can make the decision to, and the tears are big and hot and wet and everything she doesn’t want. Her chest seizes up and throbs painfully, like it knows that it’s been betrayed, and it doesn’t make it any easier to breathe or calm down.

  
    She feels a little sick, and very, very tired, and she thinks that maybe she wants to go home and sleep.

  
    But she hasn’t changed the sheets of her bed since Tobin left, hasn’t yet thrown out the rest of her Chinese takeout which went bad weeks ago, and she’s pretty sure that the first item hanging on her coat rack is her soft blue UNC hoodie.

  
    She chooses to stand still on the sidewalk and cry, attracting attention from the occasional passerby but not enough to warrant anything but a look of pity.

  
    And that’s what she is, she thinks, pitiful.

  
    She’s never felt so stupid, so sad.

  
    That’s how Servando finds her ten minutes later, staring down at her phone, tears streaming down her face.

  
    “Alex?” His voice is gentle and kind, warm against the cold breeze.

  
    She doesn’t know how to respond to him, just looks away from her phone for the first time and up at him through blurred vision.

  
    She never forgets the look on his face as he looks down at her. His smile dies on his face, and the liquid brown of his eyes hardens in the reflection of the city lights.

  
    He doesn’t look dangerous though, he doesn’t even look mad. Only sadness glistens back at her, raw and open.

  
    There’s a long moment of silence that stretches between them, broken only by Alex’s sniffles as he looks down at her and she looks up at him.

  
    It’s a moment of change, of difference.

  
    He takes off his coat while she watches him, swift and sure in his movements, and lets him help her into it. The effect is almost immediate.

  
    It doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

  
    She hugs the fabric against herself, allows it to warm her, and then looks back to him, standing silent and strong across from her.

  
    “Can we go somewhere?” She asks him, trying her best to keep her voice from breaking.

  
    “Where do you want to go?” His eyes are bright, soft.

  
    “Anywhere.”

  
                    - - -

  
    They drive as far south as they can go along the California coast, and it feels good.

  
    Alex thinks she understands then why Tobin loves to move around so much. The world is beautiful, especially when looking at it through a shattered heart.

  
    The water looks more blue than ever before, and the radio is a welcome distraction as they drive.

  
    At some point, her phone starts to buzz insistently.

  
_From The Coolest Per…: Where are you? Please call me._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: You need to let me explain._

  
_From The Coolest Per…: This isn’t what I wanted._

  
    “Who is that?” Servando asks her in passing as they pull onto the highway.

  
    Alex shrugs her shoulders and turns her gaze back up towards the setting sun.

  
    “No one,” She tells him, and she thinks she really means it this time.

  
    As the wheels of the car push them over the border and into Arizona, she swipes left and deletes the number from her phone, and leaves all things involving Tobin Heath behind in California.

  
                        - - -

  
  _Message failed to send to Striker <333: I love you. Please open the door._

  
                    - End of Part Two -  
  



	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, it's here. Also, I am no longer attempting to pretend I have any idea how many chapters this fic is going to be, it's kind of run away with itself. It's definitely going to be longer than expected, I'll let you know when I figure it out. 
> 
> With that in mind, enjoy.

    Alex takes the trip meant for her and Tobin with Servando instead, and tries her best not to think too much about how wrong it all is.

  
    It’s a little difficult.

  
    Servando is a good traveling partner. He always seems to know when Alex is actually hungry and when she’s just complaining because she’s bored, and he doesn’t say a word when she orders cheeseburger after cheeseburger, just sits quietly and eats his small fry.

  
    He’s good at talking as well. The miles blur around them as he fills the empty spaces with random facts and interesting ideas and personal opinions, some of which Alex doesn’t agree with, but he just smiles and argues it out with her—and not in an angry way, but in a curious manner, like he actually cares what she has to say.

  
    And when Alex finds she has no words, he doesn’t let things get awkward, just cranks up the radio and gives it his all.

  
    He hasn’t been gifted a singing voice as good as his soccer skills, but he manages to stay on key most of the time, and even when he doesn’t it just makes Alex laugh.

  
    He sings louder when she laughs at him, smiles wider.

  
    Alex uses a lot of their time together to marvel at the fact that such a kind person can actually exist.

  
    “I don’t understand why you are so nice to me,” She tells him at one point.

  
    He just smiles at her from the drivers seat, his eyes a warm chocolate as they dare to dance away from the road and over to her.

  
    “You deserve to have someone be nice to you,” He tells her simply.

  
    That makes her smile, makes her forget names like Tobin Heath for a little while.

  
    They see a lot of things and do a lot of hiking, but spend most of their time just driving through the desert. There’s a lot of land, more than Alex has ever been able to fathom. They drive _fast_ and for _days_ and still never seem to leave it.

  
    At night, when Servando gets too tired to drive, they park a short distance from the road and wander around in the darkness for a little while.

  
    The sky is lit up with stars like New York City is lit up with lights, and it takes Alex’s breath away.

  
    The galaxy stands on full display for them every night, unchanging in it’s immenseness and beauty.

  
    Alex sees colors and shades she never thought the sky to be capable of possessing, sees constellations and nebulas that until then, might as well never have existed.

  
    Servando just shrugs his shoulders and zips his coat up to his chin. It’s cold in the desert at night, and Alex stands just a little closer to him than normal—for warmth.

  
    “We have the same stars back in California, you know,” He tells her, his shoulder pressed against her own.

  
    “Yeah,” She tells him, pushing against him lightly, playfully, “But we can’t see them, stupid.”

  
    He just smiles and steps away from her, looks up and breathes out heavily. His breath comes out as a smoky steam and fades into the backdrop of the sky.

  
    “Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” He says.

  
    She follows him, walks back to his side.

  
    “True,” She says after a moment, trying to find the outline of his face in the dark. She only manages to find his eyes, and they reflect the brightness of the lights above them back at her, “But if you can’t see them, does it even matter that they’re there?”

  
    He smiles wide enough that she can see the whiteness of his teeth, a stark contrast to the rest of his face, darkened by the night.

  
    “That, Miss Morgan,” He says slowly, deliberately, “Is another discussion entirely,”

  
    They head back to the car and curl up on the seats in a nest of blankets to sleep. Servando is lifeless within minutes, his breathing deep and steady. It fills the car with noise, starts to lull Alex to sleep.

  
    Then she thinks about a different pattern of breathing that used to guide her into softer dreams, a little more shallow but just as strong, and suddenly the sky is too bright for sleeping.

  
    She stares out at a cosmic wonderland and wonders if the same stars are shining down on Tobin.

  
                        - - -

  
    It’s on a particularly long stretch of boring road that she starts to talk about her.

  
    It’s an accident really. Servando is talking about water sports, and well, Tobin surfs.

  
    That’s exactly what she tells him, just like that.

  
    He raises an eyebrow at her, smiles softly.

  
    “That’s nice.”

  
    That’s all he says. Just like that.

  
    Alex frowns a bit, and worries her lip between her teeth, because she is one hundred percent certain that she hasn’t ever mentioned Tobin to Servando once, and she expects maybe a little more interest than what he gives her.

  
    She fixes him with a look, stares at him.

  
    He doesn’t turn to look at her right away, keeps his head fixed purposefully on the road, and her frown deepens.

  
    He turns to her and gives her an amused look.

  
    “Can I help you, Alex?” He asks her playfully, and she shoves his shoulder in irritation.

  
    “You’re really not going to ask?” She questions, her frown fixed when he just shakes his head.

  
    “Nope,” He pops the second syllable with his lips, unhindered, “And do you want to know why?”

  
    She nods her head, pouting a little, and it makes him laugh.

  
    “You don’t want to have to accept that you want to talk about this guy. You want me to be the reason you open up, not your own small, pining heart,” He teases her, and dodges her next blow, intended for his shoulder, and traps her hand in his own before she can think to hit him again.

  
    “I’m not going to be your reason, Alex,” He tells her gently, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while, “If you want to talk about why we’re here, it’s going to be because you want it, not because I asked,” He tells her simply.  

  
    Alex tries to deny it, but she’s a little in awe of Servando Carrasco.

  
    And when he smiles sweetly down at her, she thinks that he probably knows.

  
    Her actions are much gentler after that, and she cuddles up against him, pressing her shoulder into him.

  
    “Well, for starters, Tobin’s a she,” She tells him, and watches his face carefully for any sign that such a revelation might not be alright.

  
    He doesn’t even take his eyes off the road, just keeps holding her hand and nods once.

  
    “Okay,” He says, “And?”

  
    “And I was in love with her,” She allows him.

  
    “And what about her? Was she in love with you?”

  
    Alex doesn’t respond to him, just holds his hand a little tighter and fixes her eyes on the unending road.

  
    He strokes his thumb across her knuckle once, makes a little noise in the back of his throat.

  
    “That’s okay, Alex. That’s okay.”

  
    And for the first time, Alex actually feels like it is.

  
                        - - -

  
    She tells him everything about them, from the very beginning, and it feels so good to finally tell someone that Alex cries afterwards for a little while.

  
    It takes a good few hours to go from start to finish, but Servando is a good listener and infrequently interrupts. He keeps his reactions to himself for the most part too, keeps his opinions hidden from her, and for that Alex is grateful.

  
    It’s rather difficult, she finds, to put Tobin into words. She’s not the best storyteller, and she doesn’t think she does the girl justice. Try as she might, the Tobin she paints out for Servando is a much uglier version, one she doesn’t exactly recognize, and it panics her, because she likes to think that Tobin and Servando would get along, but the more she talks to him about her, the more she understands him to dislike her.

  
    “I’m not doing this right,” She tells him, “You’re not getting how she actually is.”

  
    “I think I am,” He objects, but she shakes her head.

  
    “No, I’m telling all of the bad and none of the good, and there’s so much about her that’s good, Servando,” She says.

  
    “Alright,” He allows after a moment, “Try me,”

  
    Alex does try her best to illustrate a better Tobin, but again, it’s really hard.

  
    She tries to tell him about big trees and lemon ice cream, about quiet mornings and soft skin, about hot tea on rainy days and a warm presence in a cold room.

  
     She tries to tell him why Tobin doesn’t sleep next to the windows, how she’s reigning champion of some stupid game that she and Kelley O’Hara have played for four years.

  
    She tries to tell him about how Tobin reads to her, how her body feels when it curls up next to her, how she stayed up on hold for five hours to order Amy’s flowers for her upcoming wedding, and how she sat outside the bathroom door all night after Lauren locked herself in there when she and Jrue were going through a particularly rough time.

  
    She tries to tell him about how she dances with a soccer ball, how she always knows how to set Alex up for a goal, for success, and how she sometimes mumbles in her sleep about fruit and long boards and “pretty strikers,” which makes Alex’s heart so full she thinks it might burst.

  
    She even tries to tell him about how her lips feel on her skin, how her name feels on her tongue, how her eyes shine brighter than the sun and all other stars like it.

  
    All she really ends up saying is,

  
    “She was my best friend.”

  
                        - - -

  
    They stop for gas and to put air in the tires, and Alex leaves the vehicle and stands beside him as he services it, her legs crossed and body leaning up against the car as she watches him work.

  
    “I’d never met anyone like her,” She tells him absentmindedly, watching as he connects the pump to the tire, “She was so different from everyone else.”

  
    “It excited you,” Servando offers, switching on the pump, watching the tire fill.

  
    “And scared me,” Alex finishes, a little defensively, “I never knew what she was going to do, or what she wanted. She was impossible to predict.”

  
    “But you trusted her,” He continues, moving on to fill the next tire with learned, skilled hands.

  
    Alex shrugs her shoulders, looks away from him.

  
    “She would always come back,” She says.

  
    He stops then, and stands up beside her, leans against the car. His shoulder brushes hers, calling her attention to him.

  
    “Always?” His tone isn’t mean, just curious and sad.

  
    She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks at him, at the brown depths of his eyes, and the silence between them is only broken by the hissing of the air pump as the tires fill.

  
    “I’m going to go get some chips. Do you want anything?” She asks him, after the moment has passed.

  
    He gives her a small smile, squeezes her hand gently with his own.

  
    “I’ll take a soda, thanks,” He says warmly, and goes back to messing around with the pump.

  
    “What kind do you want?” She asks him as she heads towards the little convenience store attached to the gas station.

  
    She hears his laugh before his words.

  
    “Surprise me.”

  
                        - - -

  
    They’ve spent another night on the side of the road when Servando wakes her up, just as the sun is rising, with far too much excitement in his voice.

  
    “Alex, come on!” He tells her eagerly, throwing open the door to the passenger side and pulling off her impressive collection of blankets.

  
    He pulls her half-sleeping body from the car before she can protest and zips her jacket up to her chin after her morning senses prove to be too dull to function, and then grabs her by the hand and pulls her along after him at a pace that is much too fast for her slumbering form to keep up with.

  
    “Servando,” She complains rather loudly to him, tugging at his hand as he pulls her up a rocky, sandy hillside, “It’s like five in the morning and we haven’t had anything to eat yet.”

  
    He shushes her with a roll of his eyes, but does walk a little slower.

  
    “Come on Alex, you’re not going to believe this,” He tells her, and there’s an excitement in his voice that has her perking up and pressing further into him.

  
    They get to the top of the hill and there’s still a large collection of stars visible, even as the dark sky starts to turn to a lighter blue, and it distracts Alex until Servando gently tugs on her hand and points.

  
    Less than two hundred feet from them, down on the opposite side of the hill, are horses.

  
    A lot of horses; In all different colors, just walking around, eating things, no humans in sight except for the two of them, the only spectators around to witness their brilliance.

  
    It’s thrilling and exciting and Alex can’t help but hold onto his hand tighter in her glee. She’s never been a fan of wild animals, but there’s something about these creatures that captivates her.

  
    They’re strong, fast, beautiful. And they stick together, rarely drifting apart.

  
    Servando wraps an arm around her shoulder when she shivers. It’s cold, but he’s so very warm, and she can’t help herself when she wraps her arms around his middle and holds tight.

  
    He points again with his free hand, this time to the left, and she follows the line of his arm with her eyes.

  
    “Look, it’s a baby,” He says, and she can’t stop the jolt that shoots through her.

  
     _Baby Horse._

  
    She looks down at the little creature curiously. It’s all long, shaky legs and no body, and it prances around everywhere it goes, never straying too far from what it knows to be safe. It’s made up of bright browns and strong blacks and gentle whites, and it lopes about it’s mother with endless energy and eternal youth, chasing down it’s shadow and fighting with the wind as it blows through the dry grass.

  
    There’s another one, a little taller and a little darker, that stands nearby and watches. It’s got an older look to it, a wilder one that’s a little frightening, but as the baby creeps closer, it stands still and lets it come, gentle, and gives chase when the baby frolics off.

  
    They disappear into the mass of horses and dust and dirt, one long stride after another.

  
    “Pretty cool, right?” Servando asks from beside her, and she looks up at him and smiles widely.

  
    He smells like the fabric of his jacket, and his hair is all mussed up and wild from the wind. His eyes are more orange than brown, bright with the rising sun.

  
    She presses closer to him, shields her face in his jacket from the wind, and closes her eyes.

  
    “Pretty cool.”

  
                        - - -

  
    They find a place where they can buy freakishly large burritos, and Servando buys six and challenges her to a contest.

  
    After the second one, the food stops tasting good, and they both get a little sick, and everything tastes like beef for about two days after.

  
    “You know,” Servando says when they’re walking off their food comas, “You talk a lot about your relationship with her like it’s over,” He says, and she frowns before he’s even finished the sentence.

  
    “It is over,” She insists, pushing her hands deep into her pockets, where it’s warmer, “She ditched me, Servando. For an old girlfriend. It doesn’t get more over than that,” She says.

  
    Servando shrugs his shoulders.

  
    “Okay, but you don’t know that they’re together, do you?” He asks her, and she shoots him a glare and crosses her arms.

  
    “She didn’t get married, Servando!” Alex wants to yell at him, but she keeps herself civil, even as unhappy tears start to form, “And Tobin didn’t come home,” Her tone grows softer, sadder, but then darkens, “I bet they ran off together. I bet they’re just having a marvelous time with one another.”

  
    She tries to get those thoughts out of her head as soon as they enter. It makes her physically sick to think about Tobin _with_ someone else like she was _with_ her, makes her tremble in the wrong ways.

  
    His body angles towards her, examines her carefully, and then extends a hand towards her which she takes, surprisingly without hesitation.

  
    It’s big and warm and safe, and she likes the way it closes around her own.

  
    “That’s the easier scenario,” He tells her, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

  
    He smiles softly, almost apologetically.

  
    “Just an observation,” He says calmly, squeezing her hand, but she just shakes her head.

  
    “Oh yeah? And what’s the harder one?” She challenges.

  
    He stops walking and she jolts to a standstill beside him as he turns to face her fully.

  
    Sometimes she forgets just how pretty he actually is, how handsome, but in the light of the setting sun it’s suddenly all she can focus on.

  
    “Oh, you know how all those sad stories go,” He sounds wistful, almost hesitant, “This person never stayed, so that one never waited. He loved her, but never said it, so she found someone that would. She needed more and never asked for it, he left for too long and came back for too little,” He gestures wordlessly, without meaning.

  
    “What is that suppose to mean?” She asks him, because he’s starting to make less and less sense to her.

  
    He shrugs his shoulders, looks away from her.

  
    “Like I said, just an observation,”

  
    She tries to hold his gaze, to demand that he elaborate, and eventually he does, fixing her with a tired stare.

  
    “Scenario One, you’re right, and everything you’ve done is justified. She never loved you, only used you, and left you when the one she really wanted decided to love her back. Screw her, you’re in the right,” He pauses then, looks down to make sure she’s following.

  
    “Scenario Two?” She questions him, her voice a little small.

  
    “She did love you, she did come home. You were the one who wasn’t there, you were the one who left her, and you’re both just poor, heartbroken victims of fate and miscommunication.”

  
    She frowns a bit, nudges him.

  
    “Are you making fun of me again?”

  
    He smiles sweetly, shakes his head and tugs at her hand.

  
    “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  
    They start walking again, quiet for a little until his words start to eat away at Alex, and she turns sharply towards him, catching him slightly off guard.

  
    “It is Scenario One, you know,” She tells him, fixing him with a firm gaze, “I didn’t leave her.”

  
    He smiles gently again, carefully.

  
    “I hope you’re right, Alex.”

  
    “No, Servando, _I didn’t leave her_ ,” She’s insistent to the point where she starts to become a little hysterical, “I’m _not_ a sad story.”

  
    Servando nods immediately and pulls her close, wraps his arms around her and lets her nuzzle into the folds of his jacket.

  
    “I know,” He tells her, and his hands rub against her back soothingly, “I know.”

  
    She lets him hold her until she forgets about Tobin Heath, until her head fills with stars and horses and warmer, kinder brown eyes, and her hands are covered by ones that aren’t there one day and gone the next.

  
    It’s something she could get used to, she thinks.

  
                        - - -

  
    “You know you’ll have to see her again,” He tells her one day as they drive.

  
    “Yeah, I know that,” She tells him indifferently. Amy’s wedding is in two months, and three months after that they’ll have camp again in preparation for the World Cup.

  
    “But I won’t exactly have to do it alone,” She starts slowly, and he looks at her with amusement and a wide smile.

  
    “Oh really? And why is that?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes at him and sighs deeply.

  
    “Well, I was thinking you’d be my plus one to the wedding. You know, if you aren’t too busy.” She tells him.

  
    He doesn’t miss a beat.

  
    “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I’ll get right back to you, promise.”

  
    She smacks him on the shoulder while he laughs, and looks away before he can see the smile on her face.

  
    He sees it anyways, in his side view mirror, and she thinks that maybe something starts to flutter in her chest when his smiles grows.

  
                        - - -  
    They lay out under the stars one night, when it’s warmer, spread out across a tri-color blanket of red, black and white. They lay in opposite directions, with Servando’s head resting next to Alex’s chest, and vice versa.

  
    The heavens are alive with a meteor shower. Tens of hundreds of comets pass by over head, their beauty and speed incomprehensible.

  
    Servando holds her hand.

  
    She watches the sky for a long time, fascinated by the streaks of light that jet across it’s darkness, but eventually she tires of it, and turns to look at Servando instead.

  
    His eyes stay fixed on the sky, his smile stays wide and strong, and she wonders how someone like him is able to exist.

  
    She squeezes his hand softly, and he squeezes back, finally turns his head to look at her.

  
    His eyes are silver from the stars.

  
    “Did you really love her?” He asks, his voice quiet and breath steaming into the cold air.

  
    Alex closes her eyes, nods her head once, and the blanket is coarse against her cheek.

  
    “How do you know?” He whispers.

  
    She has the answer, but it’s too complex for moments like these. She doesn’t want to pour her heart out to him, and she knows he doesn’t want to hear it.

  
    He wants the simpler answer, the easy one, and he gets it.

  
    “I slept with her,” She tells him, shrugging her shoulders, “And it was different. I wanted more.”

  
    “You never wanted more with anyone else?” He asks her, genuinely confused.

  
    Again, Alex just shrugs her shoulders and picks at the frayed ends of the blanket.

  
    “Not like that.” She says softly, “Nothing ever quite like that.”

  
    He seems to mull the fact over in his head, chews softly on his lower lip as he regards her.

  
    “How many times?” He prods gently, carefully, like he doesn’t know if he’s starting to cross a line.

  
    It doesn’t bother Alex like it probably should. If there were lines to be crossed, she thinks, she ran over them all the second she asked him to come away with her.

  
    “Just the one,” She says, trying to be indifferent, but she can feel his judgment before she sees it in his eyes, and she reddens in embarrassment, grows defensive, “She wasn’t really around enough for more. The times we were together, there was always something more important we could be doing. At least, that’s how she made it seem.” She tells him, suddenly a bit guarded.

  
    “Until she wanted it,” He points out to her, his eyes avoiding hers.

  
    She doesn’t have a response to that.

  
    There’s quiet for a few moments, a comfortable silence, until he breaks it.

  
    “Could I be different?” He asks her, his voice so low she almost thinks she imagines the words.

  
    She turns her eyes back to the flying stars and doesn’t look at him again.

  
    “Yeah,” She says, “You could be.”

  
                        - - -  
    They reach the end of the desert in the early morning, and Servando leans over and prods Alex awake.

  
    “Stop it,” She mumbles groggily, batting his hand away as it tugs at a few strands of her hair, insistent and gentle, “I wanna sleep,” She hums, and then rubs her face against the soft fleece of the blanket and relaxes again.

  
    She feels the car start to slow and groans.

  
    “You can sleep later. Don’t you want to see it?” He asks her, and it’s said with enough curiosity that she cracks a bleary eye open and looks at him for explanation.

  
    “We made it,” He tells her happily, “We’ve reached the end.”

  
    She shoots up with excitement, ignoring Servando when he laughs at her, and stares excitedly out the window, suddenly wide awake, determined to confirm that after weeks of driving all over, they’ve finally made it out of the desert.

  
    Green grass grows everywhere along the road, rich and full of life, and Alex’s heart soars.

  
    “We did it!” She shouts as he pulls off to the side of the road and stops the car.

  
    “Indeed we did,” He affirms with a huge smile, and then throws open his door and steps out of the car.

  
    The grass is dew covered and cold against Alex’s bare feet. Servando gives her a disapproving look when she refuses to put her shoes on, but she doesn’t care.

  
     It’s a nice feeling that she’s treasured since she was a little girl, and it feels fitting now to return to the behavior.

  
    The color green, in all it’s vibrancy and life, is one that she’s missed. It hasn’t exactly been easy adjusting to the dull colors of the desert, but somewhere along the way she forgot what she was missing out on.

  
    The cool vegetation that shelters her feet reminds her.

  
    There’s farmland all around them, and the rising sun gives it all an unearthly orange glow.

  
    “It’s beautiful,” She tells him.

  
    “Yeah, it is,” He says, but he’s not looking at the world when he says it, he’s looking at her.

  
    It’s so sappy that her nose crinkles, just a little, in amusement at it all, but then suddenly she’s erasing the small spaces between them and drawing him up against her.

  
    She has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him, but she doesn’t mind, just presses her hands against his chest and uses it as a lean to reach what she wants.

  
    He has a nice, solid, strong shape that holds up firm against her, and his lips are soft and taste like the tangerine he must have eaten for breakfast.

  
    The world is orange and he tastes like orange and everything makes sense.

  
    It’s fresh, and sweet, and Alex feels more than okay for the first time in a while.

  
    Two strong arms stop her, push her back gently but firmly, and she’s left staring into uncertain brown eyes.

  
    She frowns immediately, unhappy at the rejection, and feels to her utter humiliation hot tears press against the backs of her eyes.

  
    “You don’t want to,” She states miserably, her eyes downcast.

  
    She misses his chuckle, but not the softness of his fingers as he tilts her chin back up towards him and asks her to look at him.

  
    “Actually,” He tells her with soft humor in his voice, “I’d like nothing else more.”

  
    She perks up at his words, smiles widely.

  
    “Really?”

  
    He nods a little sheepishly, and she giggles softly as his cheeks flush a lovely shade of red.

  
    “Since the beginning of this trip,” He admits to her, and she can’t help the frantic fluttering of her heart.

  
    “Well then why stop?” She asks him, confused as she grips at his hands. He folds his own over hers and holds them tightly against his chest, warms them.

  
    “You really have to ask that?” He asks her, and then sighs when she nods, confused.

  
    He drops her hands and takes a step back.

  
    “I’m not good at sharing, Alex,” He tells her, and she tilts her head at him curiously and frowns.

  
    He just smiles back at her.

  
    “And from what I’ve heard, I don’t think Tobin is very fond of it either,” He says, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

  
    “Tobin who?” She asks him playfully, as if it really doesn’t still sting to say her name.

  
    She sees the look in his eyes though, and knows he sees right through her façade.

  
    “The only one your fooling here is yourself, Al,” He tells her softly, with affection, and she lowers her gaze in defeat.

  
    Warm lips press against her forehead, reignite her fire.

  
    “But that’s not to say that one day you won’t really mean it,” He tells her, and his arms hold her up as she leans into him.

  
    “I won’t lie to you. I didn’t approach you in that bar to be your friend,” He says, and Alex feels her heart beat faster, feels her breathing grow a little more shallow. She holds tight to the tops of his arms, uses them to steady herself.

  
    “I _want_ you, Alex Morgan. Just you, and all of you,” His face nears hers, until there’s nothing but inches between them, “But you don’t want me. Not yet.”

  
    The words bring her crashing back down. She steps away from him and crosses her arms, looks away, and he lets her go without complaint.

  
    “I can fix that, though. I can fix you, if you let me,” He tells her, waiting and watching.

  
    She shakes her head, closes her eyes and smiles softly.

  
    “How long will that take?” She asks him, her voice just above a whisper.

  
    His arms are gentle as they wrap around her middle from behind. They pull her up again him, into his warmth.

  
    “A while,” He tells her honestly, and the light stubble of his chin scratches gently against the top of her head.

  
    “And until then?” She demands, her face falling slightly.

  
    He gives her a strong smile, a handsome one that sets her heart going again.

  
    “Until then I’m your friend,” He tells her simply.

  
    She smiles despite herself, she can’t really help it, and turns to wrap him up in a hug, her arms pulling him close.

  
    “My best friend,” She states without hesitation.

  
    His response comes a little uncertainly and rather slow, but it does come.

  
    “Your best friend.” He agrees.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex is a little tired of weddings, to say the least.

  
    It helps that she’s never seen Amy so happy, and that Servando looks simply dashing in his suit.

  
    It’s also nice that the wedding is at a beautiful, rather elaborate country inn. She and Servando check in the day before, into separate rooms that he insists upon. She thinks it rather silly for him to be scared of sharing a bed with her when she had slept on the car seat next to him for nearly a month, but she indulges his attempt at chivalry because really, she has no reason not too.

  
    And it’s also really nice that she doesn’t hear even a whisper about Tobin Heath.

  
    It’s all she can think about for the first day before the wedding. There’s a large party planned for that night, a pre-wedding celebration, one she knows that Tobin will be attending. She keeps thinking that she’ll turn a corner and she’ll be there, all long limbs and tan skin and hard eyes that will demand her, and to which she, like always, will find herself surrendering.

  
    Servando holds her hand though, and it makes her forget about such things for a while.

  
    The party starts off fun.

  
    All of her national teammates attend, and to say that they become enamored with Servando is the understatement of the century. Sydney practically swoons over him, especially when he ends up already knowing her boyfriend Dom from soccer.

  
    Servando is gracious towards them all, always being humble, and always introducing himself first and foremost as her friend, nothing more.

  
    He talks strategy with Abby for what seems like hours, and doesn’t shy away from Megan when she challenges him to a line of shots.

  
    When Amy finally comes to greet them, all nervous smiles and small laughter, he’s the kindest and most courteous she has ever seen him. He talks to her like a fan, buttering her up in a way that Alex didn’t think was possible.

  
    He fits into her life rather perfectly, like a neat little puzzle piece, and she finds that she really, really likes it.

  
    Nothing is forced when it comes to him, everything just floats on.

  
    “You have to marry him, Alex,” Megan tells her in a string of soft slurs after she’s had a bit too much to drink, while Servando is over talking to Jrue and Dom.

  
    Seeing Jrue should have been Alex’s first clue that her night was about to take a turn.

  
     “If you don’t do it, I will,” Megan states firmly, and Alex can’t stop the giggles that form when Sydney rolls her eyes at the older woman.

  
    “Pinoe, you’re gay,” Sydney reminds her, but if the comment phases the midfielder, she doesn’t let it show, just dances off to somewhere else to entertain herself.

  
    Sydney goes to follow her.

  
    “I’m going to make sure she doesn’t drink anymore,” Sydney tells her with a laugh and a wink, and Alex smiles as she watches her go, and turns her eyes back to look for Servando.

  
    She doesn’t find him.

  
    Her eyes find Lauren instead, standing a good distance away from her boyfriend and staring at her.

  
    Alex’s heart plummets, because there always seems to be one person that accompanies her everywhere.

  
    Alex looks to the right of Lauren, and of course there she is.

  
    It’s all just so _unfair_.

  
    She’s forgotten how beautiful Tobin is.

  
    The tanned midfielder stands tall and strong in a tight dark red dress, one that hugs itself to her frame and accentuates just the right places, displays just the right amount of skin.

  
    Her hair hangs down long and elegant and wavy, artfully curled to frame her face. It brushes carefully against the shape of her cheeks, fans out invitingly along the line of her breasts.

  
    The low lighting of the room casts shadows across her, makes her face hard to make out, but even from across the room Alex knows that she isn’t smiling. The shape of her lips are firm and soft pink—the only soft part about her in this moment—and pushed down.

  
    Her eyes are the worst part about her, and Alex almost gets away with turning before her gaze can land on her, but as it always seems to be with the two of them, she misses her chance by mere seconds.

  
    Tobin’s eyes are burning when she looks at Alex, like two bright suns, huge and wide and fiery. She finds herself getting lost in them as they call out to her, pulling her nearer, begging for her presence.

  
    It’s a look she’s only given her once—when she was towering over her on her bed, her hands touching places that made Alex shake into the depths of her core—only magnified to the extremes.

  
    There is a fiercer hunger alive in Tobin’s eyes, a wildfire that Alex isn’t willing to play with.

  
    She looks dangerous, and Alex swallows hard and starts to feel uneasy, maybe even a little scared.

  
    She’s not the only one who notices Tobin’s behavior. Lauren’s hand rests casually but firmly around her wrist, a sign of warning, and her eyes stay locked on Tobin, asking her to calm down, to rethink.

  
    Tobin looks past the point of rethinking, though, and Alex knows that this is it. She’ll end up in front of her, and Tobin will speak her usual charms and Alex will be done for, will follow her anywhere without resistance.

  
    And then suddenly he’s there, like some gallant hero, stepping into her space and cutting off her view of two starry eyes that, under any other circumstance and in any other scenario involving smaller spaces and less people, would devour her.

  
    His eyes don’t burn into her own. They are a cooler sort, the soft brown of rain meeting the earth of the forest floor. They calm her beating heart, soothe her searing skin, and allow her to breath deeply and relax.

  
    He wraps an arm around her waist, steadies her against him, and she lets him, falling into him without fear or hesitation.

  
    He lets her hide her face against the inner lining of his suit jacket, and she closes her eyes and breathes him in deeply, her breath shuddering. He rubs his other hand against her arm, tries to get her to calm down.

  
    “Alex?” He asks her softly, with the utmost affection, and suddenly Alex wants to cry.

  
    She holds tight to him, never before so grateful for another person as she is for Servando in that moment.

  
    “Thank you.” She stutters out against his chest, her breathing still shallow. She feels a little lightheaded, a little sick.

  
    His lips are gentle when they press against her forehead, soft and yielding to her, and she tightens her grip on his jacket.

  
    “Of course,” He tells her simply, warmly.

  
    When she looks up from his shoulder, Tobin and Lauren are gone.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex only lasts about another hour before she starts to feel drained, and she knows Servando notices when her weight against his side increases, and it becomes just a little more difficult to hold her up than before.

  
    His hand strokes lightly across the back of her head, his fingers tugging gently at small strands of her brown locks, asking for her attention, and she gives it to him with a lazy smile and questioning eyes.

  
    “You ready to call it a night?” He asks her, and his lips tickle the shell of her outer ear, make her close her eyes and treasure the warm feeling.

  
    She hums in response, turning her face into him, allowing her chin to brush the lining of his suit jacket.

  
    “Yeah,” She says, yawning rather tiredly. She wants to retreat to the safety of her room, where Tobin won’t be able to find her, and wants to nestle down into the covers and maybe Servando’s arms and just sleep.

  
    When he smiles down at her and his eyes glisten, she thinks that maybe she’ll have a chance of getting it.

  
    When they get to her room though, and he doesn’t allow her to pull him closer, her hopes die out pretty quickly.

  
    “You really don’t want to come in?” She asks him gently, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

  
    He smiles his usual soft smile, strokes his hand over her cheek until it blushes red.

  
    “I do.” He tells her, and his voice is deep in a way she’s never known it to be, “But maybe not right now,” He tells her gently, with care, his hands warm around her arms.

  
    She smiles tiredly and leans up to give him a kiss, short and sweet and to the point.

  
    He lets her.

  
    “Well, if you change your mind…” She trails off, batting her eyelashes at him playfully.

  
    Servando smiles down at her, touches her cheek lightly, with careful fingers, like if he pushes too hard she might disappear from him.

  
    “I know where you’ll be,” He finishes for her, and then pulls her softly into his chest and holds her for a moment before pulling away.

  
    “Goodnight Alex,” He tells her sweetly as she opens her door and steps inside, his happy face burning itself into her memories.

  
    It makes her heart swell, fills her all the way up.

  
    “Night Serv.”

  
                        - - -

  
    About a half hour later, there is a knock at her door.

  
    Alex has just finished drying her hair, has just slipped into the soft blues of her pajamas when she hears it, and she can’t help the grin that finds its way to her face.

  
    She knew he wouldn’t stay away. She knew it.

  
    She springs up from her bed and trots the short distance to the door, springs the lock and throws it open, fully prepared to give Servando the teasing of his life.

  
    It’s the wrong brown eyes that greet her on the other end of the door. They smolder where they should sparkle.

  
    Alex’s clever comment catches in her throat and threatens to choke her as she takes in Tobin Heath, and she knows the shock registers on her face when she feels her jaw drop and her eyes grow wide.

  
    Her muscles tighten and her body starts to tremble violently, a warning sign to herself, an ancient defense mechanism of self-preservation that kicks in and tells her to run as far away as she can from this girl, who is filled with nothing but the wrong intentions.

  
    She knows she won’t get far, not even if she really tries.

  
    Tobin gets what she wants, Alex reminds herself. Her bed of choice, her victory over Kelley, Cheney’s porridge, it was the first fact she learned about the midfielder, the first to cement itself into her head.

  
    The longer Tobin stares her down, eyes dark with a hunger Alex cannot deny, the more apparent it becomes that what she wants is _her_.

  
    “Tobin,” The name burns her throat on the way out, stings her tongue, scorches her mouth and sets her body on fire.

  
    Tobin draws herself up taller at the sound of her name, and her eyes grow narrow, hard. It’s the look she wears in games when she prepares for her final strike, when she readies to pressure for the ball or make a particularly difficult pass or pull off an advanced trick. It’s a fierce look, a determined one that she sports only when she goes in for the kill.

  
    This time, her target isn’t a soccer ball.

  
    Alex tries to swallow but it hurts, and the end result is a soft sound of panic that resonates within the back of her throat.

  
    A lot of thoughts swirl to the forefront of her mind, but the very first is that above all else, she wants Servando.

  
    Tobin is still dressed for the party. The long, gorgeous sweep of her red dress and the elegant curling of her hair makes Alex feel small, inadequate, unconfident.

  
    Tobin doesn’t ask to come in this time. She just pushes forwards, and Alex, as she always seems to do with Tobin, gives way.

  
    The door closes quietly behind them and plunges them into the low lighting of the little warm room, casts shadows over the pair of them as if by rendering them indistinguishable it may somehow erase the oncoming act.

  
    In an almost audible manner, Alex’s heart starts to pound. It rings through her ears and heats her skin, spreads a burning blush across her cheeks and the lines of her neck. Her stomach churns, and she fights the urge to vomit or something, anything to get away.

  
    “Alex,” Tobin’s voice is precise and articulate, completely no-nonsense in it’s flow and form. It strikes Alex right where it hurts the most, and suddenly hot tears are pushing at her eyes, stinging them painfully as they beg for release.

  
    Alex can’t help it at that point. Servando’s not there to intervene, she’s on her own, and the only solution she can come up with is to cry, because _god damn it_ she left her, Tobin Heath left her all alone and somehow now has the audacity to have strolled into her hotel room with black eyes and lips that smirk.

  
    Tobin’s expression doesn’t change as she watches the tears slip down Alex’s cheek, just watches her with a bored expression and then finally narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

  
    “What do you think you’re doing?” She’s being mean and isn’t bothering to hide it. Usually Alex is always able to find softness in her eyes, even at her worst, but now her eyes resemble glass, hard and reflective and uncaring.

  
    Alex opens her mouth again, and once more no words make it past her lips, just silence. She can’t really think straight, every time she tries her mind forces her attention back to Tobin, reminding her over and over again that there is no escape.

  
    She doesn’t know how to answer Tobin’s question, so she keeps her silence and sniffles.

  
    “Don’t do that,” There’s disgust in Tobin’s voice, raw and angry, “ _You_ don’t get to cry,” And suddenly her voice breaks and cracks and throws Alex completely for a loop.

  
    The only thing worse than Tobin angry is Tobin crying, and well, Alex is just getting the best of both worlds now, isn’t she?

  
    She doesn’t understand, not one bit, but Tobin doesn’t exactly look eager to share, so she just stares at the girl, completely dumbfounded.

  
    Just as quickly as the vulnerability shows, Tobin covers it back up with daring eyes and a harsh curl of her lip.

  
    Her fingers are on her face then, specifically her cheeks, and they wipe roughly across the skin, pushing her tears away with long fingers and impatience.

  
    It’s too much for Alex. She backs away from her touch like it burns her, and it’s the last mistake she makes that night.

  
    Tobin’s eyes are fire again, churning with emotions of passion, brilliant and uncontrolled.

  
    Alex doesn’t know where to go or what to do, just keeps backing up, as if the room goes on forever and she won’t eventually reach it’s limits.

  
    Tobin follows without hesitation, a force to be reckoned with as she advances.

  
    Alex knows that there are things she should be doing, things she should be saying, but she watches Tobin come in her quiet, dangerous beauty and she can’t think about anything at all except the fact that she went from being her everything to being nothing, and that her presence now threatens to rip open a wound that took Servando three weeks of driving through the desert to even begin to bandage up.

  
    Her back hits the wall and it’s so shocking and unrepentant that her head knocks against it too before she can stop it, and then Tobin is too close too quickly.

  
    Alex can’t breathe right as she presses within inches of her, carelessly invading her personal space. Her body radiates warmth as she sets her hands out to rest against the wall on either side of her hips, her fingers daring to brush against the fabric as she traps her there, between her body and the drywall. Her nose lightly brushes against her own, and the tickling sensation is jarring.

  
    If Alex’s heart was pounding before, it’s hammering now.

  
    She smells like mint leaves and sugar, and her lips are red and waiting, and her eyes are the many stars of the sky, all ignited fire and churning flames.

  
    “Alex,” Tobin’s breath washes across her face, “Kiss me.”

  
    For a moment, Alex thinks she’ll do the right thing for once. She’ll push this—Tobin off of her and demand that she leaves, and then she’ll call Servando and he’ll come and make everything okay in the way that only he can.

  
    But it’s not a suggestion that Tobin gives her, it’s a command, and Alex like the good girl she is, complies.

  
    She crushes Tobin against her, there’s really no other way to describe it. Her arms reach up and around her neck and pull her directly into her, with a force the girl does not deny.

  
    It’s a different kind of kiss they share, an angrier one, filled with heat and the much newer element of lust.

  
    Tobin’s lips are warm but firm as Alex opens them to her, almost rigid in the way they give themselves up, allowing her to take some but not all of what she needs.

  
    It only serves to work Alex up even more than she already is, makes her kisses hard and frantic and numerous as she tries to force Tobin into just as much compliance as she readily gives to her.

  
    Tobin doesn’t give in easily. She toys with Alex in a delicate, practiced manner, only rewarding her when she grows as bold as to swipe her tongue across her bottom lip, hot and wanting and needy.

  
    Tobin reacts to her then, kisses her strongly until Alex feels dizzy, and then snatches her up by her waist and presses her flush against her, sandwiching her between herself and the wall.

  
    Alex hooks her legs around Tobin’s, grips her shoulders firmly with her hands and holds herself up against the warmth of her body, enjoying the way it rubs against her own, smooth and steady. It feels better than anything should, has soft sounds forming in the back of Alex’s throat that drive Tobin wild.

  
    Her lips ravage her throat, leaving bruises behind in their wake. It only serves to further excite Alex, makes her heels dig into the backs of Tobin’s knees, her fingers grip tight against the strength of her shoulders.

  
    She wants more, but too much fabric gets in the way.

  
    Tobin feels the tug of her hands and pulls away, a devilish smirk on her features as she nips at her bottom lip, her teeth finding purchase and tugging it back before letting it go.

  
    “A little impatient today, are we striker?” She husks into Alex’s ear, and again her teeth are at her skin, gently grabbing at her earlobe and tugging, pulling, nipping, “Why’s that? Is your boy not taking care of you?” She asks, a cruelty in her voice, and it makes Alex shudder, puts a bad taste in her mouth, and she thinks that she’d like to pull away then, but the wall pressed against her back doesn’t give her very many options.

  
    She settles for digging the tips of her fingernails into Tobin’s shoulders, and maybe adds a little more pressure than needed, because Tobin jerks back, hisses in surprise.

  
    It’s not in a bad way. When Alex meets her eyes again, they’re blacker than before, iris’ blown wide in arousal, in want.

  
    “Don’t,” Alex tries to tell her firmly, but it comes out as a whisper, a shell of what it should be, and Tobin laughs at her in a way that turns Alex red.

  
    Her lips hunt along the line of her jaw, distracting her, teasing her.

  
    “Why not?” Tobin’s voice is false and sharp, “It’s a valid question, Lex,” The use of the name burns Alex, makes her close her eyes as she winces, “I mean, you’d think he’d be good at it. He’s certainly got the size for it,” She comments, and Alex’s eyes snap open.

  
    “Shut up Tobin,” Her voice is a little stronger, has a little more fight to it.

  
    Tobin’s eyes light up. She drops Alex suddenly onto her feet with a loud thud, shoves a knee in-between her legs and stares her down.

  
    “Make me.”

  
    It’s a challenge, Alex can see it in the angry mirth of her eyes, in the tilt of her smile.

  
    Alex is about to do just that when for the second time that night, there’s a knock on the door.

  
    She watches Tobin turn but yanks her back forcibly, presses her mouth to hers in order to keep her there. It feels too good to have her close again, she won’t let her go, not if she can help it.

  
    “Ignore it,” She tells Tobin, more pleading than demanding, “They’ll go away.”

  
    Tobin obliges her, kisses the underside of her chin and lets her hands run up along the backs of her thighs.

  
    The knock comes again, and this time, a voice accompanies it.

  
    “Alex?” Servando calls.

  
    She goes stock still immediately, and Tobin notices and pulls away. When Alex meets her gaze, her grin is one of malice, of excitement, and Alex’s heart beats so fast she thinks that she’ll probably pass out before the night is over.

  
    Tobin picks her up before she can make her brain work, carries her over to the bed and sets her down on the edge. She presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, then a peck to her mouth, and smiles the sweetest and most dangerous smile Alex has ever seen grace her features.

  
    It’s confusing and terrifying all at the same time, and worst of all, it only aids in her growing arousal.

  
    “You stay right here,” Tobin tells her cheerfully, her hand finding it’s way to Alex’s face, her thumb stroking over her lips, red from kissing.

  
    The muddle of Alex’s brain can’t figure out a reason not too, so she sits there and watches with growing dread as Tobin saunters over to the door, opens it, and steps  outside just enough to let the door shut and successfully block Alex from view.

  
    It makes her unable to see Servando’s shock, but she certainly hears it.

  
    “What?” His voice is abrupt, questioning, “What’s going on? Where’s Alex?”

  
    “Oh, hello there, um…” Her voice trails off for a moment, and then she laughs and the sound is musical, “I’m sorry lover boy, I have no idea what your name could be,” She continues, and then laughs even more, as if the entire situation is just too funny.

  
    “Where’s Alex?” Servando repeats, his voice hard in a way Alex has yet to experience. She would probably pity Tobin if the girl wasn’t so good with her own words, wasn’t a master at avoiding all types of conflict.

  
    “Oh, right,” Tobin says slowly, with careful enunciation, “This is a little awkward. She’s kind of occupied right now, probably will be for a while,” She says, and Alex can just see the sweetness of her smile, can picture the quiet shock of Servando, who has done absolutely nothing to deserve this, “But I’m sure she’ll be ready to play with you tomorrow, if you want to come back then,” Tobin continues, and when Servando continues to remain speechless, she steps back into the room far enough for Alex to see the width of her smile, “Okay, goodnight then.”

  
    She shuts the door in his face, turns the lock, and moves back towards Alex at a much faster rate than when she left.

  
    She quickly places Alex where she wants her, pushing her up the length of the bed and moving to cover her body with her own, her hands finding their way up under her shirt and later her shorts.

  
    “You are such a good girl,” She murmurs against the firmness of her stomach, her lips warm against the taught skin. She moves up her body then to reclaim her lips, to kiss patterns into her neck and collarbone, “And you’re mine, aren’t you striker?” She asks her, breathless and exuberant, her fingers skating about her body, driving her mad.

  
    “Yours,” She hums out when Tobin leaves her lips for new skin, her breath shallow and shaky.

  
    Staring down at the girl, feeling the warmth of her skin, Alex believes the words to her core, which Tobin’s hand wastes little time in finding.

  
    “Yours, yours, yours.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Eventually things settle down, when Alex stops quivering and the fire in Tobin’s eyes dies down to soft flickers, and she finally allows Alex to lean back fully against the pillows and rest.

  
    Alex is quick to relax into the wondrous after-glow that accompanies good sex. She doesn’t fight it as she lets her muscles turn to mush and her eyes droop down to make tiny crescent out of her blue eyes. She watches Tobin through hooded lids, her lips tingling and skin slick with sheen and sweat.

  
    Tobin is not so willing to give in. She keeps herself alert, and Alex watches as both arousal and fatigue dance in and out of the her eyes.

  
    “Did you like that, Lex?” She asks her, almost absentmindedly as she traces soft shapes across the bruises she has left on her skin. The feeling stirs something in Alex’s stomach, but her brain pushes the urges away tiredly, opting instead for sleep.

  
    Alex manages a lazy hum as her response, and delights in the way the affirmation makes Tobin’s eyes sparkle.

  
    Tobin presses a soft kiss to Alex’s bruised lips, feather light and just as gentle, and strokes a fingertip in a line across her cheek.

  
    Alex breathes out a deep sigh, one of utter contentment, and reaches out to grab Tobin’s hand.

  
    “C’mere Toby,” She murmurs tiredly, from behind closed eyes, “Lay down with me,” She says.

  
    She feels Tobin shift, feels her settle her body against hers and then moves her head to the side so Tobin can rest against her neck. Her nose tickles the skin, and her lips send a pleasurable jolt through her when she kisses her pulse point.

  
    Time passes around them in a haze, enough for Alex to begin to drift, and she’s just about gone from the world when Tobin sighs into her skin.

  
    “Why did you leave?” Her voice is small, “Where did you go?”

  
    Alex makes herself as still as possible, makes her breathing smooth and even.

  
    Tobin eventually falls to rest beside her.

  
    Alex doesn’t sleep.

  
                        - - -

  
    She sneaks out from under Tobin in the early hours of the morning, dressing herself quickly and heading out into the hall and down a floor.

  
    She stops when she reaches the door she was looking for, knocks quickly and repeatedly against it.

  
    Servando opens it looking rather tired and a little sad, but worst of all guarded. His eyes aren’t as trusting, nor as willing.

  
    They are still kind, though, and they soften considerably when he takes in her red, crying eyes and trembling hands.

  
    “What’s wrong, Lex?” His voice is comforting, warm, “What happened?”

  
    She searches for a long time for the right words, and cries a lot of tears in the process, her voice cracking when she finally finds it in herself to speak.

  
    “Scenario two,” She eventually tells him.

  
    There is nothing in his eyes but a deep anguish for her, and when she falls into him, he opens his arms for her, pulls her close.

  
    He holds her for a long time—not long enough to fix anything, or to offer any solutions, but at the very least long enough to stop the crying.

  
    “It’s going to be okay, Alex.” He says.

  
    This time, she knows better than to believe him.

  
    Things don’t get better. They only get worse.

  
                    - End of Part Three -  
      
  



	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter this time, but any longer and I'd have to take another week before posting. Hope you guys don't mind. Also I'm well aware that I've lost control of my life when it comes to italics. Let me live.
> 
> Enjoy :)

“Our relationship has a number of serious flaws, and if we can’t fix them together then I don’t think it can continue.”

  
    That’s what Servando had told her to say, had repeated to her over and over again.

  
    It’s easier to say back to him. Telling it to Tobin, that’s much harder.

  
    Alex goes back to her room after talking to Servando, sneaks in as quietly as she left, and is relieved to find Tobin still sound asleep on the bed, the clean white sheets of the bed tucked around her body, keeping her warm in Alex’s absence.

  
    She goes to curl back up next to her, because really there isn’t any reason not too.

  
    Tobin’s body is warm and smooth, her breathes sleepy and deep, and her face is relaxed in a perfectly inviting manner.

  
    Alex tries to settle back in beside her as gently as possible, being mindful of her body shifting the weight of the bed, but doesn’t take enough care, and sleepy, calm Tobin stirs and yawns and then rolls over to stare big honeyed eyes into her own.

  
    Alex freezes, caught in the act, her pink lips parted in her own quiet surprise.

  
    Tobin’s eyes blink rapidly, as if Alex is some kind of bright light, and then she rubs wearily at her lids before closing them again with a heavy sigh.

  
    “Oh goodness,” She says, and it’s not exactly the words Alex wants to hear, “Are you really here right now?”

  
    Alex pulls her arm away from her slowly, dejectedly, and straightens herself up, unwilling to form a response to such a question.

  
    After a moment of silence Tobin peers up at her through a single open eye, and her lips purse, her forehead crinkling.

  
    “Ugh. I thought it was a dream,” Tobin says, and if Alex wasn’t hurt before, she definitely is now.

  
    When she pulls completely away though, Tobin’s head snaps up and her eyes open wide, and her stare in enough to freeze Alex to the spot yet again.

  
    Tobin’s hand is gentle this time when it closes over Alex’s. Soft, smooth, not as rough as it had been before.

  
    She lets out a low chuckle, and the sound is thick in her throat from sleep.

  
    “I didn’t—that’s not how I meant it, Lex,” She says, and there’s no anger to her tone, just a tiredness, a sadness that hits Alex hard, “How is it that you and I have fallen into this habit of never understanding one another?”

  
    Alex still doesn’t have any words for her. She’s never been as uncertain with Tobin as she is now—and there’s a lot about them that’s uncertain—and she’s not exactly instilled with confidence after Tobin’s performance last night.

  
    She goes to move away, tugs lightly at Tobin’s grasp on her wrist, and the girl lets it go without question.

  
    Her eyes grow huge though, big and wide and brown with fear and unrest.

  
    “Please don’t,” The words escape her almost too quickly for Alex to comprehend them, and Tobin sits up and moves towards her until the white of the sheets fall down and remind her that she’s still not wearing clothes. She yanks them back up to cover her tanned skin, and wears the white fabric like some kind of shield.

  
    It’s the only time Alex has seen Tobin unconfident around her. Showing skin has never been a problem for Tobin, she’s always treated it with the greatest of casualty.

  
    Now there’s something between them, something uncomfortable.

  
    “Don’t leave again,” Tobin’s voice forces her eyes back to the girl’s face, and Tobin’s is flushed red in a deep blush, and her eyes flit about the room to focus on anything but Alex.

  
    There’s something about the statement that roots Alex to the spot, renders her immobile.

  
    She ends up shifting slightly closer to Tobin, and her eyes narrow in confusion.

  
    “What do you mean _again_?” She doesn’t intend to be blunt or insensitive, but that’s the way it comes out.

  
    Tobin shifts, still unwilling to meet her gaze. Her cheeks continue to burn red, and Alex just doesn’t understand.

  
    “Can you—” Tobin’s voice hitches nervously, “Is there like, a sweatshirt or something I can get? Maybe some shorts?”

  
    For a moment Alex is confused, but then she looks down to the floor where Tobin’s dress lies crumbled and discarded and she understands that unless she wants to make it clear to everyone that Tobin didn’t go back to her room last night, she should probably get her something to wear.

  
    She stands up and crosses the room to rummage through her duffle bag, Tobin’s stare boring into her back, and she fights to keep her concentration as she pulls out one of her black soccer hoodies and it’s matching pair of shorts. She hands it over to Tobin without much affair, and even though Tobin’s bare body is nothing new to her, she averts her eyes when the midfielder stands to change, and doesn’t turn back to her until she clears her throat.

  
    Alex turns, crosses her arms and looks at her, and Tobin looks right back.

  
    Alex repeats her question, a little more urgently this time, and Tobin laughs in her face.

  
    “You can’t be serious,” She says, and all pretense of shyness is gone in the concealing comfort of clothing. She’s right back to her usual _lovely_ self, and it makes Alex’s jaw clench.

  
     “You know what?” Tobin asks after a moment, “This was stupid. It’s Arod’s wedding, and Cheney’s probably thrown all of my stuff out of our hotel room, and you have your,” She pauses uncertainly, makes vague hand gestures, “Person to be getting back to, so I think I’ll just go. You can pretend like it never happened. You seem to be pretty good at that,” She snaps at her, and heads towards the door.

  
    Her actions do more than insult, they infuriate, and Alex is up and in her face before she can really stop herself. Her hands push against her chest hard, forcing her back.

  
    “No!” Alex’s voice is louder than she expects it to be, “No. You don’t get to just run away whenever you feel like it. You’re going to stay and talk to me for once,” She demands, and is a little surprised to see a flicker in Tobin’s eyes, to watch her hardness turn back into a glistening sadness that she is unfamiliar with.

  
    She won’t meet her gaze. Instead, she stares firmly down at her feet, her jaw fixed, her cheeks red again. She doesn’t look so dangerous out of the dark. The harsher light of day doesn’t make her out to be so tall or strong or dangerous, instead she’s just Tobin, warm and soft and for some reason, scared.  

  
    “Tobin.” Her voice is not a question but a statement, and it pulls Tobin’s eyes up to her own.

  
    They’re wet, and Tobin is shaking, and Alex doesn’t know what to do.

  
    “What’s wrong?” Alex’s bravado fades quickly in the wake of Tobin’s sadness, replaced instead with a quiet dread that claws its way up her throat.

  
    Tobin laughs bitterly, sniffles once, her jaw still set. When her eyes flash up to hers, they’re wild again, but not in the same manner as last night. Gone is the strong glare of the predator. She’s the prey now, small and terrified and desperate for escape.

  
    “You really want to know?” She asks, and her voice trembles as violently as her hands, which she clenches into fists at her sides, “ _Well I don’t know_ , Alex, let’s think back to about a month ago and consider _why I might be upset_.” There’s venom in her tone, but it’s impact is greatly reduced by the tears that start to well up in her eyes.

  
    “I don’t understand,” Alex says, and she means it.

  
    Tobin laughs bitterly.

  
    “Gee, that’s a first,” She snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm, but it just doesn’t affect Alex the way it usually does.

  
    Tobin’s coming unhinged in front of her, but where it’s usually explosive, it’s slow this time, unthreatening.

  
    Alex frowns at her, shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

  
    “Tobin, I—” She doesn’t really know how to end the sentence. She moves closer to the girl, reaches out and places her hand carefully on her arm, “I really don’t know,” She tells her simply.

  
    Tobin glares at her, crinkles her nose and shakes her head.

  
    “How? How could you not know?”

  
    There’s just silence for a moment as the two stare each other down, and then suddenly Tobin lunges forwards into her space, backs her up a couple of steps, her eyes fiery.

  
    “You promised,” Her voice is like ice, “You said you’d be waiting. You said it, right to my face, but you know what, Alex?” Tears trickle down her face freely, unobstructed in their path, “You weren’t there when I came back,” Her breath catches in the back of her throat, threatening to turn to sobs, and Alex can quickly feel the situation slipping out of her control as she continues to make Tobin more and more upset.

  
    “God _damn_ it,” Tobin chokes out, her eyes pressed tightly closed as she turns from Alex and wraps her arms around herself, “God _fucking_ damn it.”

  
    Alex has never seen her like this. She breathes like she can’t catch her breath, the intake rapid and the exhale shallow, and the small hitches in her tone just about break Alex’s heart.

  
     “Why is no one ever there when I come back?” Tobin shatters in-between the frame of Alex’s hands, and as she sinks to the floor and presses deeper into herself, Alex isn’t so sure she can put her back together.

  
    She goes and gets someone who can.

  
                        - - -

  
    Lauren comes when she asks, her hard blue eyes melting the instant Alex shows up red faced and out of breath, Tobin’s name on her lips.

  
    She walks into the room without hesitation, Alex at her heels, and ignores the mess of the bed sheets, the clothes strewn carelessly around the room.

  
    For a moment Alex’s heart seizes because now Lauren _knows_ , but it passes just as quickly, because she’s pretty sure Lauren’s known all along.

  
    The curly haired midfielder is only focused on Tobin. She immediately moves to crouch down by the girl, who has not moved since Alex left her bunched up on the floor.

  
    Lauren’s hands are gentle as they stroke through her hair, her voice soft and strong as she coos her name until she looks up at her from behind tearing eyes.

  
    “Chen,” She chokes out brokenly, making Alex shudder, but Lauren just smiles at her, runs an affectionate thumb under her eye where too many tears have collected.

  
    “Oh Tobin,” She says calmly, sadly, “what’s the matter darling?”

  
    Tobin doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and wraps her fingers around the looser parts of Lauren’s sweatshirt and holds on like she’s drowning and Lauren’s the only thing left that floats.

  
    Lauren picks her up from the floor after a bit, carries her to the bed—the other clean, made bed—and lets her cuddle up into her without fuss, her sobs muffled as her face disappears into the softer parts of her neck.

  
    For a moment Alex almost feels jealous, but the feeling only turns to anguish when Tobin speaks.

  
    “What’s wr—” Tobin can’t quite get the words out, can’t control enough of her breath for consistent speech, “What’s wrong with me?” She asks Lauren, and Alex thinks that she can maybe see tears start to build up in the blue eyes of Lauren as well, “Why does everyone leave me?”

  
    Lauren’s eyes meet Alex and they’re cold, hard as she inclines her head towards the door, dismissing Alex from the room.

  
    Alex doesn’t fight her decision, just picks up her phone and runs, trying to get the door shut before someone can say something else that breaks her heart.

  
    She doesn’t close it fast enough.

  
    “I’m here, Tobin. I’m not going to leave you.” Lauren says.

  
    The last thing Alex hears is Tobin’s cries.

  
                        - - -

  
    Lauren finds Alex after a while.

  
    Alex had originally planned to run to Servando, but the closer to his door she had gotten, the more wrong the idea had seemed.

  
    She had headed to the lobby, gotten herself a coffee, and had sat down to wait for something, anything.

  
    Lauren doesn’t smile when she sees her, just sits down next to her with hard eyes and a frowning mouth.

  
    She still has wet patches on her dark blue shirt, spots that have yet to dry from Tobin’s tears.

  
    “Hello Alex,” Lauren says, but wastes no time in getting to the point, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  
    It’s shocking, to say the least, to hear those words from Lauren’s mouth directed at her, but Lauren gives her no time to recover.

  
    “You show up at Amy’s wedding—her _best friend_ Amy’s wedding—with the guy you ditched her for after a month of ignoring her, and to what, mess her up some more?” It’s the disgust in Lauren’s voice that gets to Alex first, but the fury soon follows at how wrong Lauren is.

  
    “What are you talking about,” Alex explodes, “I didn’t leave her!”

  
    Lauren scoffs, rolls her eyes.

  
    “Oh, bullshit Alex.” There’s no pity in her tone, and suddenly Alex wants to cry.

  
    “Cheney—” She almost stops when Lauren’s eyes flash in a way she’s never really seen, almost hesitates, but something spurs her on, “She left me, you called me the night she did, you told me!”

  
    Lauren freezes, fixes Alex with a sharp glare.

  
    “What are you even talking about?”

  
    “The night of Casey’s wedding,” Alex starts, quickly growing angry, “You called me and told me she didn’t get married. You said you didn’t know where Tobin was. What was I suppose to think after you told me that?” Alex is incredulous, angry, and rather hurt.

  
    Lauren stares at her for a long time, blinks slowly, and then rests her head in her hands, sighs deeply.

  
    “Oh god. What a mess,” Lauren mumbles more to herself than anyone, but eventually raises her head and looks at Alex, and her eyes are much softer, “I’m sorry, Alex. I thought you knew her better than that,” She says, and Alex opens her mouth hotly, prepared to explain to her in detail just how well she knows Tobin Heath, but Lauren raises her hand and cuts her off before she can even begin.

  
    “You thought I was calling to tell you that Tobin had run off with Casey Nogueira?” Lauren asks, her voice soft, and as soon as the question leaves her Alex wants to go home and cry.

  
    She doesn’t exactly know where home is, though. For a while it was at the national team camps, and then it was at Berkeley, in her apartment, and then for a short period of time it was in the passenger seat of Servando’s car.

  
    Now she isn’t so sure. She thinks of home and only sees eyes, as sun kissed as the skin of the body they belong too.

  
    “You told me Casey wasn’t her friend,” Alex’s voice is thick in her throat, “You said you didn’t know where Tobin was.”

  
    “Oh Alex,” Her voice is not unlike the one she used for Tobin only a half hour before, careful and delicate and soft, “No. That’s not—I thought you would have known her better than that.” She repeats.

  
    Alex just closes her eyes, shakes her head, and her voice breaks when she speaks.

  
    “I guess not.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Lauren tells her more or less everything about the events that transpired last month, events that Alex thought she had left behind.

  
    She tells her about Tobin and Casey, how Tobin met her playing college soccer and was forever changed.

  
    “God,” Lauren says, reminiscing, “She wouldn’t shut up about her. Casey this and Casey that. You would have thought the stars revolved around her, the way Tobin went on. It was like nothing else mattered.”

  
    Casey had been Tobin’s first everything in regards to a major relationship, and Tobin had been as good and trusting and loyal as ever.

  
    “She loved her so much, sometimes I think she loved her even more than soccer. But they were too different. Tobin—and I know you’ve never known her for who she used to be—but she used to be such a homebody. When she was young, she stayed close to New Jersey, then she fell in love with UNC and rarely strayed. Casey wasn’t like that. She loved to travel so much, Alex. Playing for Chapel Hill helped her fulfill that, but every time the season would wind down she’d just up and leave to wherever she wanted to go.”

  
    “She dragged Tobin all around the world with her—she changed her.” Lauren says, and Alex doesn’t know what to think or feel as Lauren shares Tobin with her, can only sit and listen dumbly.

  
    “I don’t think Tobin can even tell you about the places they went. She was there for Casey, and Casey, well, she was there for herself. After a while, Tobin got tired of it, started trying to stay around North Carolina, do her school work, keep up with her training, and Casey kept bouncing around to wherever with whoever,” Lauren stops then, suddenly uncertain, but Alex begs her to continue with her eyes.

  
    “Everything was fine until Casey went to France,” She tells her, and suddenly everything about Tobin Heath starts to make sense.

  
    “She’d wanted Tobin to come with her, but she’d agreed to do a youth camp with her sisters. She went up to New Jersey, promised she’d be home soon, and Casey flew off to France anyways, met some fancy, foreign, exciting footballer and decided Tobin just wasn’t for her anymore,” Lauren’s tone gets angrier as she goes along, her words shorter.  
    “She broke it off with Tobin in a five sentence text message. They’d been together for two years and all she could give her was five lines. That was it for Tobin, she just lost it. Casey never texted her back after that, deleted her number and wouldn’t take her calls,” Lauren pauses for a moment, contemplates.

  
    “She was a homebody who’d lost her home.”

  
    There’s a long moment of uninterrupted silence between them.

  
    “After that, Tobin did the only thing she could think to do,” Lauren says.

  
    “She tried to find her,” Alex responds, softly, gently, with tears pressing at her eyes.

  
    Lauren nods simply.

  
    “She didn’t know where to look,” Alex continues.

  
    Lauren gives her a sharp glance, an uncertain one.

  
    “No, she didn’t,” Lauren’s voice is hesitant.

  
     “And then she met you.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Lauren tries her best to be brief with the details. Alex can tell by the way she trails off, by the way she occasionally stumbles. She’s still trying to keep Tobin safe—Lauren’s _always_ trying to keep Tobin safe, Alex learns—and it comes out in her detached storytelling.

  
    “She got a lot better after your first camp,” Lauren tells her, “She started smiling a little more, started showing some of her old colors again. You were really good for her, Alex,” She says, and the words sting as Alex takes them in, because she knows how Lauren means them.

  
     Past tense, no longer applicable, finished.

  
    Alex fights to keep her anger from boiling over, to keep her sadness to herself.

  
    “She started smiling again,” Lauren says, and like she just can’t help it, smiles wide at the simple mention of Tobin happy.

  
    It’d make Alex smile too if she wasn’t so scared of everything that’s happening.

  
    “And then it happened, a year and a half of radio silence and suddenly Tobin’s calling me crying because she has a wedding invitation in one hand and you, asleep in the room over, in the other,” Lauren laughs bitterly then, closes her eyes for a moment, “She’d just started to be okay when she strolled back into her life,” Lauren stops, just shakes her head for a moment.

  
    “I didn’t want her to go,” Alex says softly, fiddling with her thumbs, her eyes downcast.

  
    Lauren doesn’t say anything, just makes a soft noise.

  
    “I told her to do what she had to do. She asked me to go with her, so I flew out to wait for her, and then she told me she wasn’t going, that she had gone to you instead, and I was so scared for her. She’s become a bit of a queen of self destructive tendencies,” Lauren says.

  
    “I hadn’t noticed,” Alex says wryly.

  
    “And then she came anyways, and at first she was fine, but then Casey came and as always ruined everything,” Lauren says dryly, “She started going on and on about how she’d been wrong to love him, wrong to leave her, how she didn’t want to get married and how she and Tobin could finally be together—for real this time. She must have talked to Tobin for hours, she was so worked up when she called me. She told me that Casey wasn’t going to get married, that she had two tickets to France and one of them was for her, that they’d be leaving in the morning.”

  
    Alex doesn’t have anything to say, just listens as the story unfolds.

  
    “I thought I would have to remind her about you when she disappeared for a while, but I was wrong,” Lauren says, smiling as she does, “She called me the next day and talked to me for just as long as Casey had talked to her, telling me all about you, how much she cared for you, how she was finally going to make the right decision. I was so proud of her, so happy.”

  
    Alex knows how the story ends and doesn’t want to hear it, but Lauren finishes it before she can stop her.

  
    “And then she came home to you, and you weren’t there.”

  
    They sit in a long moment of silence.

  
    Alex can’t bring herself to meet Lauren’s eyes.

  
    “I had to fly back to California to _drag_ her away from your apartment, Alex,” She tells her, and her eyes are hard again, “She didn’t dare to step away from your door, thought that you’d come home and find her missing. And the entire time she was texting you, and the messages were coming back unread, and she was calling you, and her calls were never answered. It was like Casey 2.0,” She tells her, chuckling humorlessly.

  
    “I literally had to drag her,” She says then, on an off note, “You’re land lady was about to call the police, and she still wouldn’t leave, still believed that you were coming back for her.”

  
    It’s suddenly all a little too much for Alex.

  
    “Stop, Cheney,” She says, starting to feel sick, but Lauren doesn’t listen to her.

  
    “She kept trying to call you. I kept trying to call you. I even had your land lady call you. Why didn’t you pick up, Alex?” Her voice is hard, without pity.

  
    Alex swallows heavily, thinks off all the days she spent with her hand in Servando’s and her phone screen turned off, tossed carelessly in the backseat as the desert sped by in a blur of yellows and browns and oranges.

  
    “She thought you’d probably died somewhere. She literally thought you were dead. I’ve never seen her freak out so badly. I had to call your Cal-Bear coach who put me in touch with one of your friends just to tell me where you’d ended up, _who_ you’d ended up with.”

  
    Alex is shaking her head before she’s finished talking, her hands in fists at her sides, because she doesn’t understand, Lauren’s getting it all wrong.

  
    “And then you showed up with him at her best friends wedding, like nothing had changed.” Lauren finishes.

  
    Alex has had enough. She jumps to her feet, slams her hand down on the table.

  
    “No!” There’s tears in her eyes, thick and heavy, “No, that’s not—that can’t be.” She’s choking, she doesn’t know what on, but she suddenly can’t breathe.

  
    “I didn’t leave her, Cheney,” She thought she could escape without crying, but she can’t. It all just hurts a little too much, “I loved her!” Her shouting starts to attract attention, but Lauren doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away once, “I love her,” Her voice shatters, and Lauren gives the slightest wince as her voice breaks, “I didn’t leave. She did. She left and didn’t come back. I waited and she didn’t come. _It’s not my fault_.”

  
    There’s a long moment of silence between the two of them, broken only by Alex’s sniffling. Lauren finally moves, reaches over and puts a gentle hand on Alex’s shoulder, and for the first time since seeing her, there’s actual sadness in her eyes.

  
    “Honestly Alex,” She says after a long, tired moment, “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

  
    That’s the breaking point, the end of what Alex can take.

  
    She runs.

  
    This time, instead of heading away from Tobin, she goes right to her.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex has to text Megan to find out what room Tobin’s in, and once she tells her wastes no time in seeking Tobin out.

  
    Tobin’s not exactly thrilled to see her, per say. She does look a lot better though, her face isn’t as red, her eyes aren’t as bloodshot. She looks a little more put together, a little more like the Tobin that Alex knows.

  
    She’s also stunningly beautiful again. She opens the door for Alex wearing her dress for Amy’s wedding, a beautiful fabric of blue and white that hugs to her body perfectly.

  
    Her hair is on the top of her head for once, pulled into a high bun, only a few pieces of hair drifting down in gentle curls by her cheekbones.

  
    She doesn’t say anything to Alex, just turns away from the door and walks back into the room, to the bathroom, to continue getting ready.

  
    Alex follows her blindly, the door shutting in her wake, and stands in the doorway of the bathroom as Tobin strokes mascara over her eyelids and pale pink lipstick over her mouth.

  
    It’s an unusual sight, as soccer players and makeup don’t often mix, but one Alex finds herself enjoying.

  
    Tobin pauses when she runs out of things to do, and Alex watches as her long tan fingers fiddle uncertainly with the gold rim of her tube of lipstick, watches as her eyes flash briefly in her direction and then flit away.

  
    She knows her well enough to at least recognize when Tobin is nervous.

  
    She doesn’t say anything though, chooses to instead let Tobin do the thinking, the talking.

  
    She eventually turns to face her, slowly and with great reluctance. Her voice is dull when she speaks, tired.

  
    “What do you want, Alex?” It sounds like it should be a casual question, but Alex knows better. Her words are as meaningful as the soft shine of her eyes, and just as strong.

  
    For a moment Alex just looks at her, thinks of all the time they’ve spent together, of how bizarre it is that someone can be so important to her and so far away at the same time.

  
    She thinks of a much younger Tobin, one a little less wild and a lot more secure and incredibly trusting, coming back to college and waiting for her girlfriend to show up, for her everything to come back to her.

  
    She thinks about that same Tobin, just a little older, waiting outside her apartment, sending message after message asking for her to open up and then sitting and waiting—for however long it took Lauren to arrive—for Alex to come home.

  
    She thinks Tobin deserves to have someone open up the door for once.

  
    Alex isn’t scared anymore when she speaks.

  
    “You.”

  
                        - - -

  
    “Who is he?” It’s the first question Tobin asks her after they leave the bathroom. Alex sits on the bed, still in an oversized hoodie and sleep shorts.

  
    Tobin sits on one of the room chairs a few feet away, her legs correctly crossed in order to avoid wrinkling her dress.

  
    Alex sighs, flops down fully across the bed and stares at the ceiling.

  
    “Servando,” She tells her, “He plays for the Cal-Bears too,” She says.

  
    Tobin is quiet for a moment.

  
    “Soccer player?”

  
    Alex nods, her cheeks blushing slightly in embarrassment.

  
    “A really good soccer player,” She responds, and then tilts her head to watch Tobin deliberate. Her forehead is crinkled in concentration, her eyes downcast to where her hands clench and unclench in nervous uncertainty.

  
    “You didn’t—” Tobin cuts herself off, “I mean, he’s not, uh, you guys aren’t, haven’t—” Alex steps in after that, smiling slightly, a single eyebrow raised at the midfielder.

  
    “Tobin,” She says, and the girl’s gaze snaps to her own, “Use your words,” She tells her, and a soft blush spreads across the girl’s cheeks, a lovely color that calls out to Alex, inviting her closer.

  
    She ignores it for the time being, but carefully catalogs the image and stores it away in the back of her mind for later.

  
    Tobin coughs and uses the lull to gather her thoughts together.

  
    “You aren’t, like, _with_ him, right?” Tobin asks, and she sounds far too vulnerable for Alex to stomach it lying down. She sits up and turns towards her and flashes her a quick smile, intent on soothing her, putting her out of her misery.

  
    Warning bells sound in Alex’s head before she can stop them, because she can tell that she is dangerously close to lying not just to herself, but to Tobin, and after everything Alex really doesn’t want to lie anymore.

  
    She starts off intent on telling the truth, intent on explaining three weeks of desert travel and starry skies and cold nights in a worn out passenger seat with warm blankets and a strong body around her.

  
    Tobin’s eyes stop her, because the second she sees the hopeful shine within their depths, Alex _knows_ that she can’t, under any circumstances, let her know what she may or may not have with Servando Carrasco.

  
    This is a mistake, of course. She recognizes it later, but not soon enough to stop it.

  
    “No,” She says, forcing a laugh, “No, nothing nearly as complicated as that. He’s my friend, Tobin, a really good one. You’d like him, I think. He’s pretty good at soccer.”

  
    Tobin smiles, rolls her eyes in a playful manner, and the smirk of her lips prompts a similar one onto Alex’s face.

  
    “Thank god,” Tobin sighs deeply, and goes to rub wearily at her eyes before remembering the mascara she carefully applied. She settles for fixing her hair instead.

  
    “I don’t think I can handle complicated things anymore. Not for a while.” She says.

  
    Again, Alex stops herself from ruining things, stops herself from opening her mouth and telling Tobin that, actually, their entire relationship from start to finish is rather complicated, will probably always be complicated.

  
    Instead she just smiles and keeps Tobin in her sights.

  
    “Yeah,” She agrees wholeheartedly, “Me either.”

  
    There’s a long moment of silence between them, and it should be awkward the way Tobin’s looking at her, but it’s not.

  
    Alex, despite the enormity of the moment, finds herself laughing, and to her great joy, gets to watch Tobin’s nose crinkle and her lips part as she chuckles along with her.

  
    Tobin’s eyes light up in a fire again, but it’s one of a different and more compassionate nature.

  
    “Come here, pretty girl,” Her voice lulls, her tone a soft coo as she calls her closer.

  
    Alex is quick to scurry up from the bed, quick to find herself being pulled down and into the lap of the older girl.

  
    “What about your dress?” She asks halfheartedly as Tobin pulls her against her, body warm and solid, and she wraps her arms strongly around her neck in response.

  
    Tobin’s hands run along the tops of her thighs, teasing her, and Alex can’t stop the happy wrinkle of her nose as Tobin nips at her skin, a mischievous mirth in the light of her eyes.

  
    “You’ll just have to sit very still, striker,” Tobin tells her, and Alex can’t help the shutter that runs through her.

  
    Tobin watches her with amusement as her pupils dilate, as her breathing speeds up, and then promptly laughs in her face, making Alex’s cheeks blush a furious red.

  
    “Good lord Alex, not _now_ ,” Tobin teases her, and tightens her grip on Alex when she goes to move away from her, “I mean, I _guess_ we could, if you don’t mind wearing that hoodie to the wedding. I’m sure Amy won’t be that bothered, you can just explain to her that you—” Alex frowns, cuts Tobin off with a chaste kiss that’s only purpose is to occupy her mouth.

  
    “Shut up,” She huffs, but can’t help the smile the worms it’s way onto her face when Tobin laughs and holds her closer.

  
    “Oh Lex,” Her voice is calm, soothing, “I missed you so much.” Tobin’s lips pay tribute to her pulse point, worship the muscles of her neck as she paints the skin pink with her lipstick.

  
    There’s a sweet, tender moment between the two of them, unbroken by anything.

  
     “I don’t want anything like this to happen ever again,” Tobin says, her voice a soft husk against her throat.

  
    Alex remembers what Servando told her then, remembers the words she’s suppose to share.

  
    “We have serious flaws in our relationship,” She tells Tobin, attempting to be serious, but it’s hard when Tobin’s hands are so soft and her lips are brushing against the skin of her neck, “But I think we can fix them.”

  
    Tobin hums gently in response, kisses a little more of her lipstick off onto Alex’s neck. The sensation tickles, and Alex giggles before pushing her back.

  
    “No more wondering,” Alex tells her firmly, smiling widely.

  
    Tobin copies her, and the white of her teeth offsets the dark honey of her eyes and makes Alex’s heart beat that much faster.

  
    “No more wondering,” Tobin affirms, and her eyes twinkle.

  
    She kisses her then, soft and sweet, and her fingers trail small patterns up and down the length of her arm.

  
    It doesn’t just feel right.

  
    When Tobin pulls back and smiles one of her special smiles, the one reserved specially for her, it feels like home.

  
                        - - -

  
    The wedding is beautiful. Amy is gorgeous, and her husband is handsome, and everything seems to go right until it doesn't.

  
    Servando is rather dashing in his suit, and his presence is constant beside Alex throughout the entire ceremony.

  
    About halfway through he reaches out and grabs onto her hand, intent to hold it.

  
    It jolts Alex out her stupor, sits her bolt upright from where she had been fondly staring at Tobin, who had been seated at a place of honor along with Lauren near the front of the chapel.

  
    Servando smiles at her in amusement and quirks a questioning eyebrow at her, to which she tries to smile back, and then awkwardly pats him on the arm and turns back to the wedding.

  
    She pretends that she doesn’t see his curious, uncertain look, pretends she doesn’t feel his eyes on her for the entire rest of the ceremony.    

   
    She can’t pretend anymore when the ceremony ends and the reception starts, because he stops making subtle attempts and goes all out, his hand gently finding it’s place on her waist, keeping her close to his side.

  
    Of course, Tobin’s there the instant he dares to cross the line. She’s carefully composed when she arrives, wide smile and relaxed posture, her head tilted prettily, her stance natural as she approaches.

  
    It’s her eyes that give her away to Alex. They burn with the same dangerous fire that threatened to tear her apart the night before, and the way they flit from Servando’s face to his hand around her waist makes Alex heat up uncomfortably.

  
    Surprisingly, it’s only pleasantries that leave Tobin’s mouth.

  
    “Hey there,” Her voice is warm, chipper, “Servando right?” She asks, and extends her hand, which after a short moment, Servando takes into his own, too polite to refuse it.

  
    “I’m Tobin Heath. I think we met last night?” She asks him, and doesn’t wait for his delayed nod before continuing, “Sorry about that. I was having a bit of a rough time, and a little too much to drink, and well, you know, such things don’t really mix well,” Tobin says, and her nose crinkles adorably, sends a rush of affection through Alex before she can stop it.

  
    It’s hard to be anything but enamored by Tobin Heath when she turns on her charm.

  
    “Alex was sweet enough to not kick me out when I showed up at the wrong room,” Tobin chuckles, sending a soft wink Alex’s way, and she’s about to freeze in place until she feels Servando’s calm chuckle beside her.

  
    “Hey, it happens to the best of us,” He tells her casually, “Lucky it was Alex’s room you ended up at, and not some weirdo’s,” He says, and Alex wants to cringe but she can’t really move.

  
    Tobin laughs softly, musically, her smile spreading wide.

  
    “Very lucky,” She agrees, but her eyes aren’t on Servando when she speaks, they’re locked on Alex, and _good god_ Alex wants to disappear, or fall through the floor, or anything really to avoid the current situation.

  
    Servando shifts next to her, uncomfortable, but Alex has no time to do or say anything before a very enthusiastic Sydney Leroux is screaming in her ear about taking on Pinoe and Ashlyn in a dance off.

  
    The next time she catches sight of Tobin and Servando, they’re both by the bar engaged in deep conversation. It seems to be going fine, but she keeps her eyes fixed on them firmly.

  
    When she looks to her left across the room, she sees Lauren Cheney doing the exact same thing.

  
    Ten minutes later Servando finds her, smiles softly at her, and asks if she can talk. They head out to the lobby, and the door has barely closed on the party when he starts speaking.

  
    “You’re with her again, aren’t you?” He asks her, and she doesn’t know why but she feels thick tears starting to build along the rims of her eyes.

  
    She’s caught off guard, unable to form a response.

  
    Servando sighs in her silence, blinks rapidly and stares anywhere but at her.

  
    “Okay,” He mutters, more to himself than anyone else, “Okay.”

  
    Suddenly, it’s a little hard to breath, the air in the room is too hot or too thick, Alex doesn’t know which.

  
    “Servando, I—” He waves her off before she can finish, shakes his head.

  
    “No, Alex. Don’t. I—I knew what I was getting into. I knew how you felt.”

  
    He sounds so sad, more sad than he should ever be, and Alex can’t take it, she steps forward and hugs him, and he hugs her back swiftly, soundly.

  
    “I like you,” She whispers into the corner of his jacket, as if it makes the fact less painful, less useless, “I like you so much.”

  
    She feels his grip tighten around the small of her back, feels his head shake back and forth gently against the top of her head.

  
    “You love her,” He says, and it’s such a simple statement that Alex finds herself nodding before she really registers what he says.

  
    Servando pulls away from her suddenly then, jarring her as his hands grab her chin and angle it up towards his face.

  
    He’s rough with his kiss this time, a little more rushed and a little less sweet.

  
    She lets him kiss her, holds onto the sleeves of his jacket and doesn’t let go, just lets him take what he wants.

  
    He pulls back when he feels that his point has been made, and Alex thinks she sees a fire in his eyes too, one not unlike to the one that lives in Tobin Heath.

  
    “Call me when you don’t,” He says.

  
    It’s the last she hears of him. He turns and walks away from her then, disappearing in a whirl of handsome black and fired eyes.

  
    Alex only feels the sting of his departure after he’s been gone for a while. Where Tobin’s absence had seared through her immediately, like ice, his is subtler, less defined.

  
    The same tears escape from the corner of her eyes though, hot and unwanted as her throat constricts painfully.

  
    That’s how Tobin finds her, along and distraught, her head in her hands and her eyes red and tired.

  
    “Just you and me now, Toby,” Alex tells her as she approaches, trying to blink away some of the tears.

  
    She fails and yet another escapes, trickles down the stream of her cheek.

  
    Tobin wipes it away with unfailing fingers.

  
    “And soccer,” Tobin reminds her carefully, tenderly, taking her face in her hands.

  
    Alex kisses her.

  
    “And soccer.” She agrees.

  
                    - End of Part Four-  
  



	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came to a natural end a little early. Next chapter we finally go to the World Cup.  
> Happy Holidays!  
> Enjoy.

     Alex goes back to Atlanta with Tobin. There’s no hesitancy in the tanned midfielder when she asks her to come—after Alex has stopped crying and has dried her eyes—she just cradles Alex’s face in her hands and strokes her thumbs across her cheeks, trying to wipe away the remnants of her sadness.

  
    “No more tears, striker,” She tells her, and Alex finds herself readily agreeing. She never wants to cry again, the entire ordeal is rather exhausting. She just wants to curl up to Tobin and rest her tired eyes for a while.

  
    She gets to do just that after the reception ends, and Tobin pulls her along back to her own room. Tobin kicks off her shoes the second they walk in the door, and wiggles her way out her dress without much hesitation before heading to her bag and digging through it for more comfortable clothing.

  
    Alex can’t help but note her sudden comfort around her again. She’s not scared of Alex seeing her more vulnerable parts anymore.

  
    She turns and catches Alex watching and shoots her a wink and a wide grin before she tugs on one of her Nike hoodies and a pair of leggings, and her black underwear disappears from view along with most of her tan skin.

  
    She tosses a light blue long sleeved t-shirt Alex’s way—a tar heel shirt, of course—and a pair of rather scandalously small black under armor shorts that has Alex raising a curious, pointed eye at Tobin, but the girl just smiles and shrugs innocently.

  
    “If you want something else, feel free to search through the bag,” Tobin teases her lightly, and then flops down on the bed and stretches out before grabbing her laptop and opening it up, the bright screen lighting up her face.

  
    Alex shakes her head at the girl but pulls her dress off anyways, and slides into the soft fabric of Tobin’s clothes.

  
    They smell like her—a bizarre combination of the mint and sugar of her shampoo and the vanilla of her perfume—and Alex can’t help herself when she rubs her cheek against the soft blue, sweet smelling sleeve.

  
    When she looks up Tobin’s laughing at her, and she shoots the girl a soft smile before she crawls up the length of the bed and settles down beside her, her head moving to rest against her shoulder.

  
    Tobin welcomes her with a soft kiss to her forehead and wraps a warm arm around her, and Alex cuddles into Tobin without further hesitation and watches with rather sleepy eyes as Tobin clicks through travel pages, looking for cheap tickets to Atlanta.

  
    She has more trouble with it than she bargained for—Alex can tell by the slight crinkling of her forehead and her frustrated sighs as she clicks through page after page of almost terrifyingly cheap plane tickets, looking for a way to put Alex on the plane with her tomorrow morning.

  
    Alex runs her hand up Tobin’s stomach gently, nudges her nose against Tobin’s neck until she turns and looks at her with a quizzical eye.

  
    “It’s okay, you know, if you can’t find any. I can go back to California for a little bit, there’s only three weeks until camp—” Alex is cut off by Tobin’s widening eyes.

  
    “No!” Her protest is louder than the both of them expected, and Alex isn’t the only one who winces at the sudden loudness of her voice. Tobin blushes in slight embarrassment, clears her throat before trying again, “No,” She says, much softer this time, “I want you to come. That is, unless you don’t want to?” Tobin’s voice trails off, suddenly a little unsure.

  
    Alex presses close to her, pushes one of her legs in-between Tobin’s and rests her head against her chest, where it’s warm and her heartbeat is soft and steady.

  
    “Of course I want to come with you,” She says, snuggling further into her as Tobin lets her worm her way onto the center of her body, “But if you can’t find the tickets it’s okay. Three weeks really isn’t that long,” She tells her, but as the words leave her she finds herself wishing she could take them back.

  
    After all, it only took her and Servando three weeks for whatever had occurred between them to happen.

  
    She closes her eyes and presses closer to Tobin when images of his eyes bounce around inside her head, when thoughts of the soft skin of his hands and the strong solidness of his chest attempt to make themselves known.

  
    Tobin presents herself as a willing distraction. She hums contently when Alex stretches up to place her lips in the hollow of her throat, and her fingers braid themselves softly into her hair.

  
    Tobin shakes her head after a moment, sucks in a breath.

  
    “I just got you back,” Her voice is small, but the flutters that surge through Alex’s chest at her words are big.

  
    She sits up slightly after Tobin speaks, reaches out with gentle fingers to turn the midfielders head and smiles when caramel brown eyes meet her own.

  
    She kisses her gently, with the utmost care, and Tobin’s taste is sweet on her lips.

  
    “I’m not going anywhere, you know,” She says as Tobin watches her from behind soft eyes.

  
    “Yeah,” Tobin says, “I know,” But Alex doesn’t know if she believes her when she says it.

  
    She doesn’t get a chance to reinforce her statement, because the girl turns and gestures towards her laptop screen with a rather angry, helpless movement.

  
    “I know how to do this though, I should be able to get these tickets. Cas—” Tobin cuts off the moment Casey’s name starts to form on her tongue, “A _friend_ taught me how.”

  
    Alex frowns, her head shaking back and forth before Tobin’s even finished.

  
    “It’s okay to talk about her, Tobin. You can say her name,” She tells her, because the last thing she wants to do is continue to over-complicate things.

  
    Tobin shifts uncomfortably, her eyes fixed on her computer screen.

  
    “I don’t mind talking about Casey,” She says, placing an emphasis on the name, as if to prove that she isn’t scared of it, “I just don’t have very much to say about her.”

  
    Alex doesn’t believe her, not for a second. She sits up a little straighter, pushes one of her hands into the warm center of Tobin’s chest.

  
    “You’re trying to tell me you dated a girl for two years and don’t have anything to share about her?” Alex’s voice is skeptical, her forehead crinkled in confusion and disbelief.

  
    Tobin laughs from beside her, the sound musical and light as she shakes her head, amused. There’s a playful glint in her eye when she turns to Alex, a mischievous line to her smirk.

  
    “We didn’t exactly _talk_ when we were together,” She tells her, and her voice is low, almost purring as she speaks to her.

  
    Alex blinks, attempting to force herself out of Tobin’s enticement, but fails rather miserably as her cheeks heat up, and she swallows heavily.

  
    “What, uh, how did, what did you guys do?” Alex asks her a little too quickly, with a bit too much shyness in her tone.

  
    Tobin hums thoughtfully beside her, and suddenly her laptop’s not on the bed anymore but is on the side table, and the air is cold on Alex’s skin when Tobin pulls the blankets off her so she can slide over and take their place.

  
    She runs her hands up Alex’s arms, stopping to feel the strength of her biceps, covered by her tarheel shirt, and then follows the path of the limbs up to her wrists, where her fingers wrap tightly around them and press them into place above Alex’s head.

  
    Before Alex can really comprehend her actions, Tobin’s pushing her into the pillows, and her mouth is on hers, her lips strong and warm in their efforts.

  
    She opens Alex’s mouth with little fuss and runs her tongue across her lower lip before allowing it to enter further, and the sensation does it’s job of pushing Alex’s body from simple pleasure towards readied excitement as Tobin’s tongue strokes across her own.

  
    Tobin’s hands stay firmly at Alex’s wrists, using the leverage and her weight to pin her down, so the rest of Alex’s body goes unattended until Tobin shifts and pushes her legs apart with her knee, shameless as she allows it to rest between her thighs.

  
    She pulls her tongue back into her mouth when Alex inhales sharply, and smiles wickedly down at her before she tasks herself with bruising up her neck, her mouth hot and persistent against her pulse points, which beat rapidly in response.

  
    Tobin has Alex readily rubbing herself against her knee when she decides to stop.

  
    She pulls away and leaves Alex panting, her breath and her heart both running a race that has no finish.

  
    “ _Knitting_ ,” She says, and her breath washes over Alex’s face, invites her back in, “We were _crazy_ about it.”

  
    Tobin flashes her a stupid grin and an even dumber wink and then rolls over to grab her laptop again, releasing Alex from the weight and presence of her body.

  
    Alex takes a minute to catch her breath, and doesn’t speak until the places Tobin’s lips touched stop burning and her face cools down considerably.

  
    “You’re mean, Heath,” She tells her, running a shaky hand through her hair.

  
    Tobin laughs again, her voice a soft chuckle, and rests her hand on Alex’s bare thigh, squeezes it before running her hand along the firm muscle.

  
    “You’ll manage.”

  
    Alex, for one of the first times, doesn’t doubt her.

  
                        - - -

  
    Atlanta is an experience, to say the least.

  
    It turns out being Tobin Heath’s girlfriend is a lot different from being Tobin Heath’s best friend.

  
    It’s a little difficult at first, because Tobin is about as easy to tie down as thin air, which is to say not at all, and if Alex thought she was hard to contain when she was down a leg and dependent on metal crutches, then Tobin with both limbs is nearly impossible to keep track of.

  
    It doesn’t make it any easier that Tobin’s back at soccer, having been cleared to start training again, and with the Atlanta Beat teetering dangerously on the edge of elimination for playoffs, and national camp in three weeks, Tobin throws herself into the game with a vigor.  

  
    It’s not that Alex doesn’t understand it, because she does; It’s well understood by now that their relationship is split three ways—first between the two of them, and then between each of them and soccer, and if anyone has been missing out on private time with her sport, it’s Tobin.

  
    After a few days though, Alex gets a little sad when she wakes up to Tobin pressing a kiss to her forehead before prancing from the room, cleats and ball in hand, a routine “see you in a few!” escaping Tobin’s lips before she disappears for _a lot_ more than a _few_.

  
    Sometimes she manages to roll in around two, other times she doesn’t come home until six, and then still somehow has the audacity to ask Alex what she’s been up to, as is she hasn’t been roaming around her apartment all day, playing video games and watching TV with Tobin’s roommate, waiting for her to come home.

  
    She thinks about Servando during those times—not specifically about him, but about all the things he said to her about Tobin and the relationship they had.

  
    She thinks about how he had told her to fix it, about the simple words with difficult meanings that he had used—ones like _communication_ and _balance_ and _compromise_.

  
    And only then, after she’s thought through a solution to her problems with Tobin, does she dare to allow her mind to wander to the softness of his eyes, the warm press of his lips, the depths of his voice and strength of his body.

  
    Tobin always seems to come home around those times though, so Alex isn’t really all too concerned.

  
    When she finally starts telling Tobin how she actually feels, things start to look up.

  
    “I’m so sorry, Alex,” Tobin says, using her full name so Alex will understand that she’s serious. She reaches out a hand to her—something she’s only started doing recently, to express some of her insecurities—and Alex takes it and folds it between her own.

  
    “Ever since—” Tobin starts and then stops, shaking her head, “After, you know, everything with uh, Casey, I just kind of get a little nervous when I have to stay in one place,”

She admits honestly, and Alex rewards her by pulling her by the hand into her lap, her arms wrapping tightly around her as she places light kisses along her visible skin.

  
    “I get a feeling,” Tobin tells her, “That something bad is going to happen.”

  
    Alex traces her hands over her firm stomach, hums thoughtfully.

  
    “You don’t have to stop doing things just cause I’m here. I’d just be nice to be a little included. Not that I don’t love marathoning Lost with Ted, but I came here for you.” Alex tells her.

  
    Tobin turns, her forehead crinkled and her nose scrunched as she looks at Alex like she has two heads.

  
    “Who the hell is _Ted_?” She asks Alex, and for a minute she actually believes that Tobin has no idea what her roommate’s name is until she sees a sparkle in her brown eyes.

  
    She immediately shoves her off her lap and swats at her.

  
    “Shut up, you know his name,” Alex says, and Tobin giggles and jumps up before heading into the kitchen and searching the fridge for some milk, which she swigs down straight from the gallon.

  
    “Don’t worry Lex,” She says, wiping at the white remnants on her upper lip, “Tomorrow it’s just you and me,” She says, and then waits for the smile to grace Alex’s face before finishing her sentence, “And Ted.”

  
    Needless to say, Alex chases the tanned girl around the apartment until Ted yells at them for ruining his TV time.

  
    Alex expects Tobin to take her somewhere nice the next day. Sure, she’s been to Atlanta three times now, but one was to take care of Tobin when her ankle tore and the other was only for a couple of days, in which she only saw the soccer pitch.

  
    Alex is ready for a real tour of Tobin’s city, but she finds out quickly that the activities Tobin has planned don’t exactly involve sight seeing.

  
    In fact, they don’t even involve leaving the apartment.

  
    And they _definitely_ don’t involve Ted.

  
    Alex forgets all her complaints when Tobin strips her of her clothes, pushes her down into the mattress and just gives it to her.

  
    It’s the first time they fuck in place of making love, and Alex finds the act rather enjoyable. There’s a lot less pressure when Tobin is not desperately trying to prove herself to her, when her touches aren’t so long and stroking and demanding.

  
    It turns out that when she’s not so focused on winning Alex over, Tobin’s rather relaxed, almost liberal in the way she brings Alex to the edge, and is much more willing to have Alex participate than usual.

  
    She’s never let Alex dictate anything before, has never even let her be on top, and Tobin lets Alex cross both acts off her list in a single go.

  
    Tobin keeps her in bed all day, her mouth and fingers fighting over positioning between her legs, only stopping when Alex’s stomach growls loud enough to break through whatever lust filled cloud has settled inside her head. Even then, Alex has barely finished eating before Tobin’s on her again, eager and warm and best of all—which Alex quickly discovers after growing particularly bold with the exploration of her fingers— _wet_.

  
    Alex finds it all rather thrilling.

  
    It becomes a problem when the days continue to pass by and it’s all they ever do. Soccer starts stressing Tobin out, and then not being able to roam around starts stressing Tobin out, and apparently her only stress reliever is pulling her name out of Alex’s mouth like she’s some magician with an oversized hat, and the ability to make Alex come around her fingers is her best trick.

  
    Not that Alex really minds, but after a few days of such behavior, she’s ready to take a break.

  
    Ted agrees with her, not that she even asks him, and not that he’s very clear about it. She’s settling in beside him on the couch in her underwear and Tobin’s blue tarheel hoodie, a bowl of choco-puffs in her lap, and she must have sex spelled out across her forehead by now, or maybe her hair isn’t covering enough of her hickeys, because Ted’s nose crinkles.

  
    “You two should get a room,” He tells her, and Alex can’t help it when she rolls her eyes and smacks him on the arm, almost knocking her cereal over in the process.

  
    “Shut up Ted,” She tells him in a huff, “That’s not even a good insult, step up your game. We do have a room. It’s not my fault it’s so close to yours.”

  
    Ted rolls his eyes and rubs his arm.

  
    “You could get a room somewhere else,” He says, almost insistent, “One far away from me. I was trying to stream a foreign film last night and all anyone could hear was you two doing your— _stuff._ ” He says, and then shudders like it’s the worst thing he can think of.

  
    Alex rolls her eyes and takes a big bite out of her cereal.

  
    “Whatever, Ted. Put Lost back on, it’s the season finale.”

  
    Ted complies, but shoots her quite a dirty look and mumbles something about how he’s “so sick and tired of living with soccer players.”

  
    Alex realizes she might be going a little crazy when her conversation with Ted is her first contact with the outside world in two days.

  
    Tobin must pick up on her shift in attitude, because as she always does when sudden problems occur in her life, she calls Lauren.

  
    It’s not Alex’s fault that she overhears when she calls her from the living room with the speaker phone on. At that point, she’s sure even Ted can hear her, and he’s all the way upstairs.

  
    “ _Tobin Heath_ ,” Lauren’s voice is dry, a little unbelieving as she speaks, her voice slightly pitched from the feedback of Tobin’s cell phone, “Are you telling me that in the _entire week_ you’ve had Alex there, the only thing you’ve done is _have sex_ with her and then run off to soccer?” Lauren’s voice is accusatory, and deeply frustrated.

  
    Tobin scrambles to find her words.

  
    “Well, uh, I mean…when you say it like that it, uh, kind of sounds bad—”

  
    “ _That is bad_!”

  
    “It’s not like she doesn’t like it!” Tobin protests in return, and Alex can picture the red flush of her cheeks, hot and embarrassed.

  
    “Tobin _Powell_ Heath,” Lauren sounds exasperated, maybe even a little annoyed, and Alex can tell she really isn’t playing around anymore, “There’s only so much advice I can give you. You told me you loved her—”

  
    “I do love her,” Tobin complains, interrupting, and Lauren shushes her loudly, the noise a broken static from the phone’s speakers.

  
    “That’s not how you treat the people you love,” Lauren says firmly, “Would you treat anyone else like that? Would you treat me like that?”

  
    There’s a moment of silence and then Tobin guffaws, and Lauren actually ends up joining her bizarrely as the two of them laugh.

  
    “No offense Cheney, but the intentions I have for you and the intentions I have towards Alex are completely different in that nature,” Tobin says, still snickering.

  
    “Thank the good lord for that,” Lauren says, giggling as well.

  
    “Yeah,” Tobin says after a moment, and there’s a soft undertone of mischief that has Alex rolling her eyes before she continues to speak, “Not that you could handle me anyways,” She teases, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from Lauren on the other end, one of offense.

  
    “Oh please. Tobin Heath, I’m the _only_ one that handles you.”

  
    Tobin laughs again, and the sound is deep and warm.

  
    “Whatever you say, Chen.”

  
    There’s a moment of silence then as they both calm down and refocus.

  
    “Seriously though,” Lauren starts, “Stop being such a horn-dog and take your girlfriend out. She’s a person, Toby, not a pet.”

  
    “I never said she was,” Tobin is adamant, but Lauren just laughs again, “And I told you not to call me that.”

  
    “Why not?” Lauren goads,  “Alex gets to call you that, and you certainly have enough pet names for her. What do you call her again? Oh, that’s right, _striker_. Real romantic Toby.”

  
    “Now you’re just getting on my nerves,” Tobin says flatly, but there’s still humor in her tone, humor and affection.

  
    “Good,” Lauren says, not missing a beat, “ Maybe you’ll hang up and go tend to that poor girl.”

  
    “Maybe I will.”

  
    “Finally. Bye Toby.”

  
    “You still can’t call me that.”

  
    “Good _bye_ ,” Lauren’s voice stretches out the second syllable, enunciates it with her finality.

  
    “Bye Chen,” Tobin says, and then the phone clicks off and Alex scurries back to the bed, intent on pretending she never heard a word.

  
    Tobin walks in and smiles at her, places a sweet kiss on her lips.

  
    “Hey striker. You want to go somewhere?”

  
    Alex smiles, returns her kiss, and thanks her lucky stars that Lauren Cheney exists.

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin takes her out to eat and it’s kind of perfect.

  
    It’s in no way traditional. There’s no five star restaurant involved, no elegant dress or formal behavior, just Tobin in a snapback buying hamburgers and a large fry out of a grease truck from a man named Sal that she _somehow_ has come to know.

  
    They walk while they eat, Tobin chewing rather loudly and not bothering to swallow before talking.

  
    It’d be gross on anyone else, but as all things seem to be with Tobin Heath, it’s simply endearing.

  
    They end up at the Centennial Olympic Park in the later hours of the evening, the sun having gone down and all the lights having been turned on. The Olympic rings light up beautifully, staring them down head on, painting Tobin’s face a pale gold with their glow.

   
    Alex doesn’t know if Tobin understands just how gorgeous she can be sometimes. Everything is so effortless with the midfielder, so natural and flowing.

  
    She’s never looked prettier to Alex than she does now, standing in front of five giant glowing rings, a brown bag stained by grease clutched in her hands and two orange planets orbiting within her eyes.

  
    She makes no movement to clarify that she understands how Alex feels, how Alex sees her, just keeps talking to her about _mountain biking_ —for reasons Alex can’t remember—and doesn’t stop until Alex goes still and her eyes grow wide with her image.

  
    Tobin turns then, takes in her surroundings, and then moves back to face Alex with a big grin and soft eyes.

  
    She thinks Alex is looking at the rings.

  
    She’s wrong, of course, but Alex isn’t about to tell her that.

  
    “That’s going to be us someday, striker,” She tells her boldly, grandly, a single tanned arm moving to point to the glowing rings—halos, really—illuminated in front of them, “You and me, together. They won’t know what hit ‘em,” She says, and her face pulls into a wide grin and simultaneously pulls the strings of Alex’s heart.

  
    She loves her, loves her words and her face, loves the warm feelings she gives her when she uses words like _you_ and _me_ and _together_.

  
    It sounds a little too perfect though, and Alex has learned by now that nothing that perfect ever happens.

  
    After all, she’s just Alex Morgan, some Cal-Bear forward that couldn’t secure her team a playoff position and probably won’t even make the World Cup roster. It’s a bitter thought, but a realistic one.

  
    Tobin doesn’t smile when she shares this with her.

  
    “You’re too hard on yourself, Lex,” Tobin tells her, crossing her arms and stepping closer to her, causing the lights in her eyes to intensify, “You’ve had an incredible season. It’s not your fault you were gone so much—you got called up to the national team,” Tobin says, without hesitation, and Alex wants to turn away and keep walking before she does something as silly as start to believe her.

  
    “They don’t call just anyone up, you know,” Tobin reminds her.

  
    Alex shakes her head before she’s even done talking, but doesn’t interrupt, because she knows that Tobin won’t be able to understand it even if she was to draw her out a picture.

  
    Tobin doesn’t know what it’s like to be a forward, she’s only ever been a midfielder, flying up and down the wing, controlling the game with quick feet and sharp skill.

  
    Alex isn’t a midfielder, there’s nothing about her that’s defensive. She’s all forward, all heart and fire and relentless passion, yearning for the ball and the net and the goal, and unfortunately in her case, hotheaded strikers like her are a dime a dozen.

  
    There’s always a need for a midfielder on a roster, for a cool head and a grounded heart. It’s the strikers, the young guns whose only purpose is to push and push and _never stop pushing_ that get cut.

  
    She doesn’t know how to explain that to Tobin, but she tries her best.

  
    “The national team is always calling up young forwards,” She says, “And how many of them pass through the camps without ever finding a place on the team? There’s hundreds of them, Tobin. Hundreds. I’m not special in that regard, I’m not the best among them.” Alex tries to keep her tone matter of fact. For a while those thoughts had strangled her, threatened to pull her down.

  
    She has Tobin now though, and she thinks that as long as she has her she’ll be okay.

  
    Tobin just shakes her head.

  
    “You’re not just _some_ striker,” She tells her hotly, with fire, but again Alex is shrugging her off, sighing softly to herself. Tobin steps closer to her, arms crossed, and her face is a lot more serious than it was a few minutes ago.

  
    “You’re _my_ striker, Alex Morgan,” Her voice is low, dangerous, “ _Of course_ you’re the best.”

  
    Alex feels something well up inside of her at the words. Tobin’s staring down at her like she’s the only thing that matters, like she’s all that’s left of the world around them, and the strength of her eyes coupled with the strength of her words pushes Alex over the edge.

  
    She pulls Tobin to her and the girl comes willingly, her hands wrapping around her and pulling her against the smooth nylon fibers of her jacket. Her hand finds itself tangled in her hair, the other at her waist as Alex nestles into her shoulder, cuddling close.

  
    Tobin smells strongly of the food they just ate and faintly like her faded perfume, and when Alex pulls back and kisses her quickly—almost too fast, really—her lips are warm and taste like salt.

  
    “I—” Alex doesn’t know how to finish her sentence. It should be simple to say the three words she so desires to share, but its not.

  
    It should be simple to say _I love you_ , because _damnit_ , it’s been a year and a half of nothing going right, and _I love you I love you I love you_.

  
    “You?” Tobin encourages her, questioning her tone as she loosens her grip on Alex enough to pull back and examine her face.

  
    Alex ducks her chin down and purses her lips, shuffles her feet, shifts her weight.

  
    “I like you,” Alex tries, but no, it isn’t right, it isn’t enough, “But I don’t just like you,” She continues, and no, it still isn’t right, “It’s more than that. It’s more than me just liking you.”

  
    Her body is screaming at her to become a Nike slogan, to just do it, just say it, just live it.

  
    Her brain promptly disagrees, and so the words go unsaid, except within the endless repetition of her mind.

  
    Tobin smiles at her.

  
_I love you._

  
    She reaches out to her, traces a soft line down her cheek and settles her warm hand against her neck, pressing just enough so that Alex’s pulse flutters against her palm.

  
   _I love you._

  
    Her lips are smooth when they reclaim hers, chaste but affectionate, gentle in the way she coaxes Alex’s between her own.

  
   _I love you._

  
    Tobin pulls away and lets her go.

  
    “I don’t just like you too.” She tells her, and then she walks away, walks out of the path of the glowing yellow halos, the vibrant orange rings, and lets the darkness of the evening cover her features once more, obscuring her from Alex.

  
    Alex follows her into the dark, follows her home, and pushes those three terribly difficult words deep down into her chest, where she’s sure she’ll be able to forget about them.

  
    Days turn to weeks.

  
    She doesn’t forget.

  
                        - - -

  
    Atlanta nights have treated Alex well since her arrival.

  
    She’s spent them all curled up around Tobin, the sleepy girl warm and soft and cuddly, the blinds drawn over the giant glass window of her room, the one that points directly out to give a gorgeous view of the Atlanta skyline and the bustling city that dwells below it.

  
    The patterns that the drawn blinds form have been specifically tailored to Tobin’s taste—she had labeled it “artsy,” air quotations and all, and Alex had just rolled her eyes and giggled at her until the sun had gone down, the city lights had turned on, and she had gotten to view the full affect of Tobin’s work.

  
    Artsy is an understatement. It’s stunningly beautiful the way the midfielder has caused the light to fall. It makes the room distinct, unique in the way the dark and light falls throughout it.

  
    The cozy atmosphere that it creates leaves Alex reluctant to fall asleep and have to wait another twelve hours for the sun to set once more and plunge the room into beauty.

  
    Sometimes Alex can hear the noises of the city, but most of the time she only hears Tobin’s breathing.

  
    That night, she hears neither.

  
    She crawls into bed a half hour before Tobin, flops down on the giant king bed that Tobin has somehow acquired— “I got connections, yo” had been her answer when Alex had asked—and is happily getting acquainted with the covers when Tobin walks in, her hair still damp and clinging wetly to her grey t-shirt. She’s not wearing pants, just her underwear, and the sight of the long stretch of her tanned legs has Alex eager to roll over and invite her into the bed.

  
    Tobin comes to her with a weary smile. Practice has been rough, and her ankle has started to hurt again despite countless hours of physical therapy. It leaves her frustrated but too exhausted to properly relieve it, at least in the way that Alex desires.

  
    She crawls her way up Alex’s body anyways, but where she might have kissed her, she just shakes her head like a wet dog and showers Alex with a cascade of tiny water droplets.

  
    Alex shrieks, shoves her off and far away as she rolls to hide under the covers, the water unwelcome within the warm sanctuary of the room.

  
    Tobin giggles maniacally, and her laughter is enough to tempt Alex back out from under the covers.

  
    “You’re wet,” Alex pouts, brow furrowing, and she realizes her mistake as soon as the words leave her mouth because Tobin’s eyes light up like Christmas trees and a devilish smirk makes it’s way onto her face.

  
    “That usually makes you _so_ happy,” She says, sighing deeply, her eyes rolling in an exaggerated manner, “God, can I do nothing to please you, woman?”

  
    Alex groans at her poor attempt at a joke—and it really is poor—and tries to roll away from her but Tobin’s arms catch her and prevent it, keeping her close instead.

  
    Alex rolls wearily to face her and huffs.

  
    “Shut up Toby,” She says, and her pout increases to include her lower lip as she juts it out.

  
    Tobin doesn’t hesitate, she leans forward and nips at her, teeth scraping over the softness of her lip and pulling back before allowing it to snap back into place.

  
    The effect on Alex is immediate, her pupils blow wide and she’s pressing closer into Tobin’s space before any barriers are able to present themselves.

  
    Of course, that doesn’t stop the barriers from intruding anyways.

  
    She’s on Tobin, one hand on the sharp curve of her waist, the other by her head, kissing her strongly when Tobin’s cell goes off.

  
    The midfielder groans over-dramatically when Alex breaks the kiss, and her hands go to grab Alex’s hips, trying to keep them in place and coax her mouth back down to hers.

  
    Alex just hums and plops down beside her, turns and smiles sweetly in her direction.

  
    “The sooner you answer the call, the sooner I’ll be on you again,” She rasps out, her voice low, and it has the desired effect on Tobin because she springs up and snatches the offending object, accepting the call as she strolls from the room with a calm and self-assured “It’s Tobin.”

  
    Five minutes later, Tobin isn’t so calm anymore. She’s yelling, her voice bouncing off the apartment walls at such an octave that Ted starts screaming back from the upstairs.

  
    The action jolts Alex into awareness, and she sits bolt upright in the bed.

  
    “What do you mean _traded_?” Tobin’s voice is more than audible throughout the apartment, as is the disgust in her undertone, “You _can’t_ trade me. I won’t go!”

  
    Dread pools within Alex’s stomach as Tobin starts stomping around the ground level of the apartment, her nerves getting the better of her.

  
    “I’m getting better,” There’s a desperation that enters her tone, “I’m feeling better. You have to give me more time,” Her voice is demanding, angry, hurt.

  
    A moment passes by of silence, and then suddenly Tobin’s shrieking, or yelling, or both, Alex can’t really tell, and then Ted’s had enough because he starts shouting back.

  
    “Tobin _fucking_ Heath!” His voice screams out from the upper level, “I swear to God if you don’t—”

  
    Tobin beats him to whatever ending he was searching for, cutting him off with an even louder voice.

  
    “ _Shut up_ Ted!” She yells, outraged, and then continues to yell at her phone.

  
    “I’m your number one draft pick,” She’s almost starting to whine as she continues to receive bad news, and Alex doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if she should stay or go to her, “You can’t get rid of me. You just can’t.”

  
    There’s another moment of silence, and then Tobin inhales sharply, laughs bitterly.

  
    “Well great, thanks. I might be getting shipped to New Jersey, but at least I have your shitty apology.”

  
    That’s the end of the call. Alex listens closely as Tobin snaps the phone shut aggressively and then starts stalking around the apartment once more. Things bang and crash together loudly, violently, and Ted continues to scream down to her, but she never responds.

  
    Alex is too late with her reaction. By the time she moves, Tobin’s already on her way out.

  
    Tobin does what she does best in situations of discomfort and crisis.

  
    She leaves.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex sits out in the living room on the couch, staring at the door and waiting for Tobin to come home.

  
    She thinks she’ll be able to keep herself awake, but she falls asleep waiting and wakes up in the early morning to Ted throwing a blanket over her on his way out to work.

  
    He meets her eye when she startles into awareness, and there’s a soft pity in his own that doesn’t sit right with her.

  
    “Is she here?” She asks, her voice thick and shaky from sleep as she stretches, her muscles sore from the awkward positioning of her night on the couch.

  
    Ted shakes his head and buttons his coat, giving her a small, sad smile.

  
    “No. I’m sure she’ll be back soon though,” He tells her, and then awkwardly pats her on the arm before exiting the apartment.

  
    Alex groans and pulls the blankets up over her face, wishing the soft fabric was giving off Tobin’s warmth instead of her own.

  
    She hangs out in the apartment by herself, and it feels too big and too empty for just one person. It’s a rainy day in Atlanta, and when she finally gets tired of watching Lost and eating weird imported cheese crackers out of the pantry—the one specifically marked _Ted’s, Do Not Eat_ —she just sits and watches the rain trickle down the pane of the window, like tears on a cold cheek, only more numerous and unrelenting.

  
    The hours tick by endlessly. Alex tries texting Tobin, and then calling her, all to no avail.

  
    She thinks about Servando again, how he would never do this to her, would never hurt her like this. He’d never missed one of her calls, never not responded to one of her messages.

  
     _Loyal_ , that was the word for what he was.

  
    The longer Tobin stays away, the more Alex doubts how loyal she really is to her, and the longer she has to compare her to Servando.

  
    She doesn’t stack up very well against him, and the thought makes Alex want to cry.

  
    Ted comes back at six to find Alex still sitting on the couch. He’s very gentle about his approach, very calm and sympathetic as he sits down next to her.

  
    “Still no Tobin?” He asks softly, uncertainly, and Alex just closes her eyes and nods her head and tries not to hurt herself with how hard she clenches her fists.

  
    Ted sighs deeply and reaches out to her, his hand open and extended, and Alex takes it, allows him to give her own a quick squeeze.

  
    “What do you want for dinner?” He asks her after a moment, side-eyeing her carefully.

  
    Alex shrugs before giving him a small smile, happy not to be so alone anymore.

  
    He must understand her to some degree, because he smiles right back at her.

  
    “Chicken,” She tells him, shrugging her shoulders gently, and he springs up happily and heads into the kitchen.

  
    “Chicken it is,” He says brightly, and Alex can’t help but feel just a little better.

  
    They eat and watch more TV and talk about Ted’s job—which is actually rather interesting. He’s a graduate student working in a cancer research lab, getting his tuition cut in half by opening up his apartment to various soccer players. Tobin’s just one among a multitude—but his favorite so far, despite her flaws, he quickly adds—and now with her eminent departure, he’ll soon unfortunately be hosting another.

  
    “The worst is the smell,” He tells her, his nose crinkling as they eat large bites of chicken straight from the pan, “Everything about soccer players just reeks. I don’t understand it,” He tells her honestly.

  
    She decides not to tell him that she herself is a soccer player, just smiles and nods and eats the rest of his chicken.

  
    At ten Ted decides to go to bed, and then Alex is alone again and remembers just how angry she is, and things go downhill from there pretty fast in terms of her level headedness.

  
    Tobin comes home at one in the morning, soaked through to her skin, hair dripping, the sterile scent of alcohol on her.

  
    Alex doesn’t get up to greet her, just watches her from her blanket nest as she stumbles around the apartment, tossing her wet clothes to the floor carelessly before disappearing into her bedroom.

  
    She comes back a minute later, a blue t-shirt over her body, her wet hair dripping onto it and creating dark spots.

  
    She walks over to Ted’s pantry after a moment too, and pulls from it a bottle of strawberry wine.

  
    She doesn’t hesitate to pull the cork out, and takes a large swig directly from the bottle without reservation.

  
    She does this a couple of times, in repetition, before she finally sets it down with a loud thwack and turns to meet Alex’s gaze.

  
    Her eyes are fiery again, dangerous, and Alex swallows audibly and tries to organize her thoughts.

  
    It’s hard, though, with Tobin looking at her like that, and as she comes closer, it’s nearly impossible.

  
    “Tob—”

  
    The midfielder is on her before she can even get her name out, her lips opening up her mouth and her tongue pushing forward to move against her own.

  
    The movement is rushed and desperate, firm in the way Tobin demands her, claims her. Her hands are strong at her hips, holding them fixed as she lowers herself onto Alex’s lap.

  
    She kisses her until Alex forgets her thoughts, until the only thing she cares to remember is her name.

  
    The alcoholic taste of strawberries on her tongue and mouth is rather addicting, and Alex finds herself drinking the girl in before she can stop herself, her hands pulling her closer, pushing her hips down and into her own.

  
    Alex swears to God that she knows they should be talking about something, but Tobin is warm and needy against her mouth, against the crotch of her pants, and it’s all too easy to give into red lips and sweet smelling breath and fired up eyes.

  
    That is, until Tobin breaks away with a gasp, the breath whooshing into her mouth, and suddenly she’s off Alex and headed away at a sprint.

  
    “I’mgonnabesick,” Is all Alex hears as Tobin slurs her words and flies into the bathroom, and then—

  
    Yeah, she’s sick.

  
    Alex sighs and pulls her hair up before rubbing wearily at her temples, and then stands and makes her way to the bathroom after a moment, cautiously poking the door open with hesitant fingers.

  
    “…Tobin?”

  
    The girl in question sits panting quietly on the tile of the bathroom, very hung-over but also still quite drunk.

  
    It makes for a bizarre situation.

  
    “Damn-it,” Tobin husks out, resting her head wearily in her hand, her hair splaying out around her shoulders and covering her face, “I’m sorry Lex,” She slurs again, unsteady, “You don’t have to be here, you can leave.”

  
    Alex doesn’t leave. She’s not like her.

  
    Instead she leans down and collects the soft strands of Tobin’s hair and pulls an elastic through it, securing it safely out of the way, and then sits down quietly on the floor by the door and waits for Tobin’s stomach to settle.

  
    It takes a while but eventually the midfielder is able to pull her head away from the toilet, and she turns and looks at Alex with dull, red, tired eyes.     

  
    Alex gets up then, pulls her to her feet gently and strips her of her clothes, pushes her towards the shower. Tobin thankfully complies, and soon steam fills the bathroom from the heat of the water.

  
    Alex sets out some clean towels for her, cleans up the mess Tobin leaves behind, and gets her a fresh shirt and some sleep shorts before heading into the kitchen.

  
    Eventually she exits the shower, sweet smelling and fresh, and Alex has a glass of water waiting for her and some plain toast. She drinks the water quickly and nibbles on the bread, watching Alex carefully.

  
    Alex’s eyes are hard.

  
    At first, Tobin gets the reason why wrong, and starts explaining the phone call she received last night.

  
    “I’m going to have to move to—”

  
    Alex cuts her off with a pointed brow and a frown of her lips as she holds up a finger for her to pause.

  
    “We’ll talk about that later,” She says icily, and Tobin shifts uncertainly, frowns and shrinks into herself, her eyes looking around uneasily.

  
    “If you _ever_ —”Alex stops herself before she starts shouting, because Ted doesn’t deserve two nights in a row of angry yelling, and closes her eyes before rubbing at her forehead, exhausted and angry, “If you _ever_ pull that shit again, Tobin, if you _ever_ leave without telling me where you’re going and when you’re coming back? Then we’re finished, _I mean it_.”

  
    It feels good to speak with such finality, and the words come to Alex easier than expected.

  
    Tobin meets her gaze steadily, blinks twice, and Alex knows she understands.

  
    “Okay,” She says quietly, simply.

  
    “Now eat your fucking toast so we can go to bed,” She tells her, snapping a little bit, and then quickly steels herself and heads into the bedroom, changing into her night shirt and laying down on her side of the bed.

  
    Tobin comes in a few minutes later and lays awkwardly beside her, tries to put her arm on her waist, but Alex pushes her off for once.

  
    Tobin doesn’t really know what to do after that, though to some degree she does try.

  
    “ _I’m sorry_ ,” She says, and when Alex doesn’t respond, her voice grows a little more urgent, “I’m sorry, _Alex_.”

  
    Alex is about to turn and laugh in her face, is about to get up and leave, is about to do something very rash and impulsive, when her brain niggles three words to the front of her thoughts, reminding her gently that _I love you_.

  
    The thought grounds Alex, calms her down, allows her to think.

  
    “I’m sorry too,” Alex says after a moment.

  
    And she is. Sorry for letting this happen again and again, sorry for not staying with Servando, sorry for thinking things would be different.

  
    Sorry for loving someone that never stays.

  
    Tobin doesn’t try to touch her again.

  
    They sleep uncomfortably.

  
     Apart.

  
                        - - -

  
    She wakes up to Tobin looking at her.

  
    The room is grey with the light of early morning, and casts Tobin with the same dull colors, shrouding all but her eyes, which look more golden than brown as they watch her.

  
    At first Alex smiles and goes to move closer to her, to take her into her arms, but then she examines the wear and redness of Tobin’s eyes and the events previous come rushing back to her in a singular painful wave.

  
    She doesn’t move closer to her, doesn’t say anything, just looks back at her with sadness in her eyes.

  
    “Hey there,” Tobin says after a moment, blinking carefully at her, maintaining the space between them.

  
    Alex sighs and allows her eyes to flutter closed briefly, as if when she opens them again she’ll be somewhere else, maybe with someone different, but she opens them and it’s still Tobin staring back at her with carefully concealed eyes.

  
    “Hi Toby,” She breathes out, and debates pulling the covers back up and falling back asleep, but instead she shifts and sits up, leaning against the headboard before turning to look at Tobin.

  
    The girl picks up on her cues and sits up as well, watching her carefully.

  
    “Okay,” Alex says, stretching a little, “Now you tell me what happened.”

  
    Tobin gives her a brief description, which in the end paints a brief but understandable picture for Alex.

  
    The league is losing money, that’s what it comes down to, and the Atlanta Beat don’t have the funds to keep around a “broken” player, as Tobin puts it eloquently.

  
    Her trade is for financial reasons. The Beat no longer have to pay for a sidelined player, and in exchange for her they get yet another number one draft pick, to replace the obvious blunder that was choosing Tobin Heath.

  
    Alex expects Tobin to sound bitter, but she only sounds devastated, hurt, wounded even, and Alex finds herself shifting closer to her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder that Tobin immediately leans into.

  
    “I just don’t get it,” Her voice shakes a little bit, “I’ve been doing so well, Lex. I’ve been pushing as hard as I can, I’ve been—” She breaks off uncertainly, with anguish as she turns and meets Alex’s eye, “ _I’m trying my best_.”

  
    The words speak volumes for Alex, settle some of the leftover fire in her stomach from last night, because really that’s all she can ask of the midfielder.  

  
    And she thinks that maybe Tobin is telling her the truth. Last night aside, she’s been doing a rather good job of balancing her recovery and her time at home.

  
    Maybe Alex has been asking too much of her, has been doing all of the wanting and none of the taking.

  
    She thinks she’s ready to give a little.

  
    Her hands run down Tobin’s arm to her side, grabbing firmly at her waist and pulling the tanned girl into her lap.

  
    Tobin comes willingly, with great relief, and nuzzles her way into Alex’s side, her head resting where her neck meets her shoulder.

  
    Her breath tickles Alex’s skin in a welcome manner, and as she feels Tobin relax against her, she finds herself doing the same.

  
    It’s odd how soothing Tobin’s presence can be to her sometimes, and it makes her happy that she frequently has the same effect on the midfielder.

  
    “They don’t know what they’re loosing out on,” She says, pressing a kiss to the top of Tobin’s head, her hands rubbing small circles into her back, drawing soothing lines up her arm, “But they’ll definitely find out. You’ll show them, don’t worry.”

  
    She doesn’t see Tobin’s smile, as the angle they hold onto each other prevents it, but she feels it against her skin as Tobin’s lips spread wide, and it’s more than enough for Alex.

  
   _I love you_ her brain reminds her, and the thought makes Alex warm, and not just because of the way Tobin’s wrapped up in her.

  
    Her grip tightens on her, and she takes the final step in bridging the gap that has sprung up between them.

  
    “Besides,” She says softly, into the skin of Tobin’s forehead, “I’ve always wanted to go to New Jersey.”

  
    She feels Tobin’s elation as it builds up in her body, enjoys the feeling of it coiling through her muscles before eventually reaching her eyes.

  
    They’re bright when she turns to look at her, strong as Tobin leans in and presses her lips to her own briefly, chastely.

  
    “Always?” Tobin husks out, and then because she simply can’t help herself, smiles wide.

  
    Alex doesn’t hesitate.

  
    “Always.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin drives her begrudgingly to the airport.

  
    She doesn’t want her to leave, but Alex knows she has too. There’s too much for Tobin to do already between rehabbing her ankle and finalizing her trade to Sky Blue FC, and frankly Alex wants a little time to get herself into the proper headspace before the World Cup.

  
    Tobin’s as much a distraction to her as she is to Tobin—a welcome one, of course, but not necessarily beneficial when in less than a week Alex will be vying for a place on the national team roster.

  
    She tells Tobin this but words it differently to make her feel secure, and then assists the midfielder in finding tickets cheap enough to get her to California but not so inexpensive that the plane has a greater chance of crashing than delivering her safely.

  
    Ted gives her a big hug when they go to leave, and it makes Alex ridiculously happy but also rather sad, because this will probably be the last time she ever sees him.  
    “You have excellent taste in television and cereal brands, Morgan,” He tells her affectionately, and she giggles into his shoulder, which is apparently one step too far for Tobin, who tugs on Alex’s elbow and grumbles about punctuality.

  
    “Feeling left out, Tobs?” Ted teases her as he lets Alex go, “I can give you a hug too if you want,” He hums, a smirk on his face, and Tobin flashes him a dirty look.

  
    “Get your own girlfriend, nerd,” Tobin tells him, her words harsh but her tone affectionate.

  
    It’s the first time Tobin’s used the words together in reference to Alex. Sure, she’s used _girl_ countless times, and _friend_ even more so, but never the two together, and never in a voice so soft.

  
    It gets Alex’s heart beating.

  
    Ted rolls his eyes and lets Alex go with a wink and a grin, and then Tobin has them both out the door.

  
    She carries Alex’s bag loyally, not because it’s heavy, but simply because she wants too.

  
    The drive to the airport is rather long, and for a while the only noise is the soft hum of the radio, some Ed Sheeran song droning on in the background, but then Tobin’s hand shifts from her gear stick to Alex’s leg and squeezes softly, a sly smile on her lips, and suddenly Alex realizes that she’s going to miss her.

  
    She reaches forward a shy hand to grab onto Tobin’s, to hold onto her while she can.

  
    “So New Jersey, huh?” Alex asks her carefully, “Are you excited to go home?”

  
    Tobin hums softly, makes brief eye contact with Alex, curls her lips upwards at her with careful poise.

  
    “New Jersey isn’t my home, Lex,” Tobin says easily, like it’s no big deal.

  
     _Where is your home then?_ Alex think to herself, and the words buzz at her lips, persistent as they demand to be spoken. Alex beats them back, because the chances of her giving back an unsatisfactory answer are high, and Alex is tired of leaving Tobin behind with a heavier heart than the one she found her with.

  
    “You’re not happy?” Alex asks her quietly, tightening her grip on Tobin’s hand as it starts to rub softly up and down her thigh.

  
    Tobin shrugs her shoulders, yawns and leans back against the seat and puts the windshield wipers on as it starts to rain. They haven’t been replaced in a while, and they squeak loudly as they swipe back and forth across the wet glass.

  
    “It is what it is. I’ll go to Sky Blue FC and keep playing the way I’ve been playing. That’s all I can do, I guess,” Tobin says, and then frowns, as if the thought disturbs her.

  
    Alex shifts in her seat and Tobin’s hand stills, her grip loosening, but Alex isn’t ready to let go and clings tighter to the appendage, until it gives way and Tobin allows for her to lace their fingers together.

  
    “I’m going to miss you Toby,” She says softly, her head pointed away from her, like by doing so she might somehow not hear.

  
    Tobin’s hand flips around so she can better hold onto her, slides her palm against her own in a soothing manner.

  
    “It’s only for a week,” She says, and for a second Alex’s heart plummets into her stomach, because there’s no way in _hell_ that they’ve gone through all they’ve gone through just to be back to reactions like that, to be back at pretending not to care about the other.

  
    There’s a tremor to Tobin’s voice that Alex catches, and a quickness to the way she states her words that allows Alex to understand what she really means, and after a few minutes of silence, she finally produces the words as well.

  
    “I’m always missing you, Lex,” She says eventually, with such a resignation that Alex knows it to be true.

  
    “Always?” Alex teases her playfully, pulls on her hand smugly, and Tobin rolls her eyes and swats at her shoulder before reclaiming her fingers with her own.

  
    “Quiet you,” She laughs, and the smile reaches her eyes in a pretty manner that’s so unfair.

  
    Alex sighs a little, takes a small risk and leans over to rest her head on Tobin’s shoulder. The midfielder accepts her readily, and when they reach a stoplight, turns to kiss her sweetly on the forehead.

  
    Once again, the radio’s the only thing breaking the silence.

  
     _“Wait for me to come home,”_ It sings, the words piercing.

  
    When Alex dares to chance another look, it’s Tobin that’s looking back at her, and suddenly Alex isn’t so curious anymore, because she knows now.

  
    She knows where Tobin’s home is.

  
    It’s not in New Jersey.

  
                        - - -

  
    There’s only so long they can stall Alex getting on the plane.

  
    Alex is well aware that Tobin has no interest in high end hand bags, and even if she did, definitely wouldn’t need her opinion on which one she would want.

  
    Alex plays along with her though, because she looks a little nervous and her eyes are too brown for her own good.

  
    Finally though, Alex has to go, or the plane’s going to leave without her.

  
    Tobin’s reluctance becomes flat out refusal.

  
    “No, wait!” She says suddenly, after they’ve hugged, after they’ve kissed, after Alex has run out of reasons to linger, “Alex I—” she grabs onto her jacket corner before she can disappear into the crowd.

  
    Alex spins obediently and looks up at her with confusion.

  
    “I have to go Tobin, I should have checked in twenty minutes ago. I’m going to be late if I—”

  
    “This won’t take long,” She says, and she’s quick, firm with her words. Her hands slide up Alex’s arms to hold them, to hold her, and Alex melts into her touch.

  
    “What’s up Toby?” She says, surrendering to her desire, and Tobin smiles gently, warmly, and her lips are pink and inviting.

  
    “This isn’t going to be like all the other times, right?” She asks, and she’s suddenly very vulnerable looking, her eyes less like that of a lions and more like those of a doe, “We aren’t going to fly to our separate coasts and watch everything fall apart?”

  
    Alex’s heart breaks a little. She moves to grip Tobin back, to find a firm purchase on her shoulders.

  
    “Oh Tobin,” She husks, warmed by Tobin’s confession, by her uncertainties, “I never seem to fall very far from you.”

  
    It’s not exactly what Tobin wants, but Alex supposes that it’s enough for now.

  
    And then, of course, Tobin speaks and everything  _does_ fall apart.

  
    “Okay. I love you.”

  
    Alex stops, but her brain doesn’t.

  
    It starts screaming at her, that this is the moment she’s been waiting for, that she can finally tell her without fear.

  
    But now things aren’t simple, she doesn’t just love Tobin, Tobin loves her back, and everything about them is suddenly that much more dangerous.

  
    That’s not what keeps her silent, though.

  
    A pair of brown eyes that don’t belong to Tobin stop her, seal her lips shut carefully of any words of meaning.

  
     _I love you too._

  
    “Oh.”

  
     _I love you too._

  
    “That’s—”

  
_I love you too._

  
    “I—”

  
   _I love you too!_

  
    —have to go,” Alex stammers out, “I’ll call you. When I get home.”

  
    She tries to sleep on the flight back home, but she doesn’t see darkness when she closes her eyes.

  
    Instead Tobin’s eyes are there.

  
    Wide.

  
   _I have to go._

  
    Damaged.

  
   _I’ll call you._

  
    Hurt.

  
     _When I get home._

  
    Alex isn’t an idiot, but she sure feels like one.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex gets home at one in the morning, stumbles into her apartment with a weary hum and starts straightening things up, getting ready for bed.

  
    She has a couple of messages on her answering machine, and allows the messages to play as she drags her bag in and hangs up her coat.

  
    There’s two about soccer, and old one from Tobin, and a telemarketer from a credit union.

  
    There’s also one from Servando.

  
   _“Hey Al,”_ It starts off, his voice firm, _“I just, I can’t sleep and I…”_ His voice trails off and then he sighs deeply, _“I can’t stop thinking about you. There, I said it. I know that you’re with Tobin and everything, and that’s fine—well, it’s not fine, actually. I shouldn’t have left that wedding. Not without you. I just—can you give me a call when you get this? There’s things I need to say to you.”_ He lists his number, wishes her well, and hangs up.

  
    His words are like rocks on Alex’s conscious, weighing her down heavily.

  
   _I have to leave, I’ll call you when I get home._

  
    Alex is punching in the last two digits to Servando’s phone number when her screen lights up the darkness of the room.

  
_Incoming call from Toby <3_

  
    Alex doesn’t remember putting the midfielder back into her cell phone, which means Tobin has done so herself.

  
    It almost seals the deal for Alex, almost makes her decline the call. This sudden display of commitment from Tobin is almost too much, feels too dangerous.

  
    She already loves Tobin. She doesn’t know how to handle Tobin loving her back. If things go wrong, there’s no clean way to handle it on either end, just destruction for them both.

  
    And there’s so much about the two of them together that’s already destructive. They’ve hurt people together, they’ve hurt _themselves_ together, and Alex isn’t sure it’s ever going to stop.

  
    If relationships are castles, then theirs is made of sand.

  
    Alex doesn’t want to be inside when it topples down.

  
    Servando can build her a castle that reaches the clouds, one made of stone, strong and supportive, capable of keeping them safe.

  
    He’s already laid the foundation, she just needs to let him build the rest of it.

  
    And yet there’s still Tobin, who wandered away from her to a different beach, now standing with her broken bucket and bent shovel, desperately trying to hold together their crumbling castle of sand.

  
    It’s the little heart by her name that saves everything.

  
    Tobin Heath loves her. It’s not something to be taken lightly, not something to be ignored.

  
    Besides, Alex has seen some pretty strong sand castles in her time. A little water, a little more attention, and maybe they can make something of it, make something out of the mess they've made.

  
    For now though, it’s enough to not leave Tobin trying to hold them up on her own.

  
     _Call accepted._

  
    “Hey,” Alex says, her voice warm, “Tobin?”

  
    “Hey striker,” Her voice sounds tired, “Did you get home okay?”

  
    Alex pauses for a moment, because this is important, this is Tobin calling her even when she’s afraid, even when she left her at the airport all alone after she told her _she loved her_.    

  
    Alex isn’t quite ready for the words yet, but she figures it’s about time her actions add up to her intentions.

  
     _Delete voice message from Servando Carrasco?_

  
     _Voice message deleted._

  
    Tobin’s choosing to stay. It’s all the confirmation Alex has wanted, has needed. If she’s ready to stay, Alex is ready to stop running.

  
    “…Al? Did you hear me? Are you home alright?”

  
    Tobin Heath’s home isn’t a place, it’s a person.

  
    Alex’s home is a person too.

  
    “I’ll let you know,” She tells her gently, heart warm.

  
     “I’ll let you know when I get back to her.”

  
                    -End of Part Five-  
   


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't listen (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was the World Cup but the chapter would just be too long I refuse to upload a 40k word chapter.
> 
> So I split it in half. Consider this part one. I shall be posting part two very soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

    Over the years, Alex Morgan has gotten used to a lot of things.

  
    The noise—the unrelenting, perpetuate sound that resonates throughout the stadium, that shakes Alex to her roots—is not one of them.  

  
    It makes her heart sing, fills her with a joy and a meaning and a purpose—a purpose to live, to breathe, and to play some damn good soccer.

  
    She safeguards that purpose with all she is capable of, holds it near and dear to her heart. Nothing comes between herself and soccer. She has chosen the ball over everything, will always choose the ball over everything, and anyone.

  
    Or so she thought.

  
    Tobin Heath makes things difficult.

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex doesn’t know what exactly she expected to come out of the World Cup, but it definitely isn’t what she ends up with.

  
    A few weeks shouldn’t be able to change so much.

  
    After a while, however, she rationalizes that it isn’t so much the weeks that changed things, it was the traveling, the soccer, the sudden flood of problems that had entered into her life, all pertaining to a certain tall, tanned midfielder with a wide smile and a fire in her eyes.

  
    While travel and soccer and sudden floods of problems has only tired Alex out, there’s something special about those three things—and those three things in particular—that turns Tobin Heath wild, not just in some aspects, but in all of them.

  
    Alex is strongly reminded again of the young girl she met two years ago, the one that wandered aimlessly and did what she pleased and took what she wanted and cared very, very little about the things and people that got in her way in the process of such acquisition.

  
    Again, Alex feels foolish. Foolish for thinking that just because Tobin claims to love her, everything will change, that she’ll become steady and constant and patient, that she’ll transform more into the boy that drove her for three weeks through the desert and less into the unruly girl that put them there in the first place.

  
    If Tobin notices her displeasure, she doesn’t comment on it. The two aren’t roommates during the May camp, with Alex rooming with Sydney and Tobin with Kelley, and there’s something about large amounts of people and distance that turns her Tobin into their Tobin, and Alex doesn’t care for their Tobin at all, and as Alex comes to understand, their Tobin doesn’t care much for her either.

  
    It’s hard in those moments to remember that the same girl is capable of inspiring unbelievable feelings and emotions within her, especially when she seemingly goes from ignoring Alex to flat out avoiding her. Any time Alex tries to get her alone or occupy even the smallest portion of her time, there seems to be something better to do. Kelley O’Hara always has a new game to challenge her with, or Lauren and Amy need her help with something, or her advice on a problem, or her undivided attention for ridiculously long amounts of time, and it’s not fair, because Tobin is suppose to belong to her now.

  
    She’s supposed to be the one who owns her heart, but the way Tobin drifts around without her makes it very hard to believe that Tobin’s given her even a little piece of it.

  
    The only consistent interaction they have on a daily basis is the mornings, during breakfast. She’s always the first one down—though she refuses to admit it, it’s surprisingly difficult to sleep without her midfielder next to her—and after a couple of days of eating mostly by herself, Tobin stumbles upon her.

  
    Alex knows it’s a complete accident by the way the smile changes on the girl’s face when she sees her. It becomes less real, and the brightness of her eyes simpers.

  
    “Striker,” She calls out happily, her voice a drawl as she saunters towards her. Alex knows her well enough now to understand when she is and isn’t being genuine, and now is one of those times. Unfortunately for Tobin, she’s yet to figure that out.

  
    “Just the girl I was looking for,” She says, her lips curling up sweetly, her nose wrinkling adorably, and while the sight does inspire butterflies within Alex’s stomach to rise and flutter up into her ribs, she keeps the smile from her face and her eyes hard, even a little cold, and without any greeting whatsoever moves her eyes from Tobin’s face to her phone screen.

  
    She doesn’t see the confusion settle over Tobin’s face, but she hears the falter in her step, and it’s enough to make her a little smug. But just a little.

  
    She feels a slight hesitancy rise up in Tobin, a gentle caution as she moves about to try and stand in her line of sight, a frown fixed on her face.

  
    Alex has learned to play this Tobin for who she is—yearning for attention, desperate for excitement. If Alex refuses to give her either, she’ll do almost anything to regain it.

  
    So if Alex wants her conversation, wants Tobin’s attention back on her, this is the route she has to take.

  
    “Al?” Tobin’s voice becomes a soft whine the longer she keeps her head down. She pokes at her shoulder softly, “Hey Lex, you in there?” Her voice becomes more demanding, persistent.

  
    Again Alex gives her nothing, and fights the smile that threatens to form when Tobin huffs in exasperation. From the corner of her eye, Alex sees Tobin put her hands on her hips.

  
    “Alex!” It’s loud this time, direct and confrontational, and Alex lets her small smile form because she knows she has her now.

  
    Alex blinks up at her softly, her brows raised.

  
    “Oh I’m sorry. Have you decided I’m now worthy of your attention?” Alex asks her sweetly, coyly, and smirks rather smugly when she watches the fire in Tobin’s eyes ignite.

  
    “What?” She stipulates, pink lips frowning and brows furrowing.

  
    Alex gives her a blank stare before turning back to her phone.

  
    “Hey! What are you—Alex!” Tobin calls persistently for her attention, pushes at her shoulder again, but Alex gives up nothing, just pushes her hand off her firmly and flashes her a look of warning.

  
    Tobin switches her tactics, turns the hard line of her lips into a pout and the burning of her eyes into a muted kindling, giving Alex her best “kicked puppy” look.

  
    Alex makes the mistake of looking at her a little too long, and her eyes must give her away, because she ruins the entire standoff for herself as Tobin takes her in, eyes suddenly calculating, and then an amused, devilish grin takes the place of her softer side.

  
    “I know what’s wrong,” She says suddenly, triumphant like a five year old is when they’re the first to learn a new secret.

  
    “Do you now?” Alex hums, keeping her eyes down, attempting to regain control over the situation, but it all fails when Tobin’s arms suddenly reach down and encompass her and pull her back into the warmth of her body.

  
    “Yup,” Tobin says, her voice suddenly loud as she pops the “p” of the word, her lips brushing against Alex’s ear, “You miss me. It’s obvious,” her voice purrs, invites Alex closer.

  
    Alex knows she should pull away, but Tobin hasn’t exactly been liberal with her affection these past few days, and the strength of her arms wrapped around her must be just a little too alluring, because Alex melts right into her without question.

  
    “You’re wrong,” Alex sighs out, unresisting, and Tobin just chuckles softly and presses a careful kiss to the top of her head, her hands stroking gentle patterns through her shirt against the firm strength of her stomach.

  
    “For some reason I don’t believe you,” She soothes into her ear before biting softly at the lobe, letting it redden between her teeth before releasing it when Alex complains.  


  
    “Well it’s true,” Alex insists, but then Tobin’s hands run downwards from the smoothness of her stomach and onto her thighs, her thumbs pulling playfully, suggestively at her waistband, even going as far as to duck under it, to tease her carefully.

  


  
    The second Alex gasps Tobin’s hands retract.

  
    “Are you going to look at me with those pretty blue eyes now? Or do you really want me to go away?” Tobin’s tone is feisty, daring at her side, her breath washing over Alex’s face and smelling like vanilla and mint, and Alex can’t really help but breathe her in.

  
    It’s then that Alex understands. Tobin knows how to play her just as well—if not better—as Alex is able to influence Tobin.

  
    She surrenders to the older girl, her eyes flashing up to meet the warm honeyed melts of the midfielder. A calm mirth plays about the strength of her eyes, bright and inquisitive.

  
    “Fucking tease,” Alex breathes out, pupils blown wide with want as a result of being so starved for attention, and Tobin smiles wide at her words and leans down for a kiss, rewarding the girl’s compliance.

  
    “There’s a good girl,” She hums into her mouth, her tongue sweeping playfully across Alex’s lower lip before she pulls away, straightening and stretching, her eyes moving to the buffet table, “I’m getting coffee. And orange juice. And some milk. And like seven waffles. Do you want anything?”

  
    Alex lets her go reluctantly, immediately feeling cold again.

  
    “I’ll eat one of your waffles, I guess,” She says, moving to turn back away from the midfielder, but the girl suddenly lunges down and catches her face in her hands and stares her down in a way that makes Alex swallow hard.

  
    “You listen to me, Alexandra Morgan,” She tells her, a dangerous air to her tone, “I’ll make you as many waffles as you can eat. But there’s no way you can have one of mine,” She says, and then walks off to the waffle maker before Alex can really figure out how to close her mouth and nod her head and mumble something out that doesn’t sound like mush.

  
    She does come back with seven giant waffles, and another smaller one designated for Alex, and wastes no time in plopping down beside her and digging in, kicking her feet up to rest on Alex’s lap like they belong there, like she belongs there.

  
    When Alex looks at her she just gives her a wicked grin and then proceeds to dig into her monstrous breakfast with immense enthusiasm.

  
    “That’s just going to come right back up, you know,” Alex chides her, her right hand squeezing at Tobin’s calf which lies firm and solid against her thigh.

  
    Tobin just gives her a look and smiles wide, showing off an impressive wad of chewed waffles before swallowing and gulping down one of her beverages—the orange juice, perhaps.

  
    “I’ll aim for you then, if it happens,” Tobin tells her smartly, and Alex just wrinkles her nose in distaste at her.

  
    Tobin catches her eye though before she can look away, and suddenly, even with the girl closer to her than she’s been in days, she seems just a little too far away.

  
    “Hey,” She calls out gently, a little hesitant, a soft nervousness entering her tone.

  
    Tobin makes lazy eye contact with her, the same sort of smile gracing itself across her features.

  
    “Hey,” She responds back, a hint of laughter in her voice as she waits for Alex to continue.

  
    Alex is slow in her proposition, unconfident. Her hand moves from the girl’s calf and slides higher up, to grab at her thigh and hold tight to it. Tobin’s eyes snap from hers to follow the movement of her fingers, and when they look back to Alex they’re darker, waiting, yearning, expecting.

  
    “Do you think we could…” Alex abandons her sentence as she watches Tobin’s eyes dance around her face, starting at her eyes and then traveling to her lips and then down her body in a line, unabashed and without shame, and she feels herself start to flush.

  
    Tobin remains motionless from her place in her chair, feet reclined on Alex’s lap, though she does relax her legs, allows for them to part from one another and open themselves to the path of Alex’s hand.

  
    “Could what, Striker?” She hums, and Alex shoots her a frustrated look, because she knows what Alex wants—what Alex needs—she just wants to make her say it, wants to make her ask, persist, demand.

  
    Beg.

  
    Alex opens her mouth to give her what she wants, but the words never make it past her lips.

  
    “Tobs!” Kelley O’Hara’s voice splits through the tension surrounding the couple, and Alex watches silently as the freckled girl comes bounding into the room, headed straight for the midfielder.

  
    A smile spreads across Tobin’s face—a real one, this time—as she hears her name, and then her head snaps up and she pulls her feet from Alex as Kelley leaps into her lap and wraps her arms around her neck.

  
    Alex frowns, but not because she dislikes Kelley. She actually finds the girl to be the most endearing out of nearly everyone, but there’s something rotten that Tobin’s lack of care has built up inside of her, a poisonous kind of jealousy that only worsens the longer Kelley remains in Tobin’s lap, the longer Tobin’s attention is anywhere but on her.

  
    “Hey Kells,” Tobin responds easily, her hands settling around the girl’s waist, a mischievous look entering her eye as she moves to stare Alex down over the girl’s shoulder, “What’s up?”

  
    Kelley hums at her question and pats at Tobin’s shoulders insistently, demanding her attention, which the girl immediately gives.

  
    “They’re setting up an air hockey table in the rec. room. I already called dibs for us but Cheney’s being super mean about it so I need you to come and fight her for me because I’m not as tall and—oh! You made waffles,” The girl giggles, and Alex can’t help the almost violent wave of anger that crashes down on her as she watches Kelley wolf down Tobin’s remaining waffles, the very same ones that Tobin had refused to share with her.

  
    “Air hockey?” Tobin asks, excitement quickly mounting in her voice, “That’s my shit. Go tell Cheney I’m coming to kick her ass,” She tells her, patting at the defenders thighs to get her up and going, and the shorter girl obeys her immediately, springing up before coming to a standstill as Alex catches her eye.

  
    “Oh, Alex,” She calls out then, a slightly more quizzical look entering her eyes as she looks silently between her and Tobin for a moment. Her brow furrows in contemplation but then relaxes, and her shoulders shrug slightly.

  
    “You should go see Sydney, when I left she was about to blow her entire paycheck on an online shopping spree,” The defender tells her, and then races back off to the rec. room.

  
    Tobin gets up slowly and throws out their plates, stretches her back and gets her chair in order before she turns back to Alex, her lips pursed slightly.

  
    Alex glares back up at her, unimpressed.

  
    Tobin leans down after a moment of staring, her eyes surprisingly soft, and presses a gentle peck to Alex’s lips, short and sweet, her fingers firm but steady as they hold her chin and position her face into one prime for the taking.

  
    “You think on what we could do together, striker, and get back to me on it,” Tobin says, and then releases her chin and straightens back up, flashes her a quick wink and a sloppy grin, and then strolls out of the room about as easily as she strolled in.

  
    She leaves Alex a lot more hot and bothered than when she first found her, and suddenly a great deal more lonely.

  
    Alex hates it.

  
    Unfortunately, she loves _her_.

  
                        - - -

  
    The energy of the camp is different from the others Alex has attended. There is an immediate purpose now clear in everyone’s head, and a necessary result that must be reached if anyone is going to progress to the next level.

  
    The next level being the World Cup.

  
    There’s twenty-seven players at the camp, but only twenty-three will be getting on the plane for Germany.

  
    It results in a surge of effort and motivation and desire, and above all, competition. It’s the first time ever that Alex is encouraged to let her head run hot, to leave behind her reservations and her uncertainties and just give it her all.

  
    It’s insanity. She spends all day on the soccer field with everyone kicking her, with everyone trying to knock her down, with everyone yearning to see her fail, because if her ass hits the ground enough, if she gets dispossessed of the ball a certain number of times, if she doesn’t get enough shots off and doesn’t score enough goals or make enough plays, then she’s one less player they have to fight through for a plane ticket east.

  
    The first hit she takes is hard. Kelley comes in from behind and tackles the absolute shit out of her, and the way her cleat cuts down the back of her thigh is enough to shut her down immediately. She looses all sense of drive and coordination as warning bells go off in her brain, and then she can’t use her legs—can’t even feel them—as her head involuntarily volunteers her to stop moving right now.

  
    She falls gracelessly, watches the ball go rocketing away from her to Tobin of all people, whose pinny color is the same hideous neon as Kelley’s, and gets to watch with a throbbing leg as Tobin makes her best run of the day, nutmegging through Carli when she tries to stop her, then drawing back wide to pull Lauren to her before cutting in deep and driving the ball past Hope’s gloves and into the back of the net.

  
    Kelley whoops from behind her and springs up, completely unfazed and without the slightest regard for her well being, and slams into Tobin for a hug, the midfielder picking up the defender and spinning her around once before Amy jumps on them, celebrating as well.

  
    The fire in Alex’s stomach flares up, past her chest and into her throat, and her fists clench and her eyes narrow and she starts to feel mad, starts to feel mean.

  
    What really sets her rage in stone is when Pia laughs and throws a thumbs up Tobin’s way.

  
    Alex grits her teeth and glares daggers at her leg and tries to ignore the look Tobin sends her way, one of the most casual concern.

  
    Abby lopes over to her from the far goal and pulls her to her feet before she can protest, clapping her on the back as she steadies uncertainly.

  
    Her leg stings viciously, but when Abby looks at it she just shrugs and gives her an unchanged look.

  
    “We play to win, Alex,” She tells her, knocking a gentle fist against her shoulder, and Alex locks her jaw and blinks her eyes and nods her head quickly, almost frantically.  


  
    Abby moves off then and Lauren takes her place, arms crossed and a wry smile on her lips. When Alex dares to look closer, her blue eyes are as fired up as her own. She reaches out and takes Alex’s hand, pulls her around so she can look at the bright, angry red marks painted on the back of her thigh. She winces sympathetically, pulls her back towards center field so they can reset.

  
    “Let’s make them pay, Alex,” Lauren says to her, a wildness in her voice that Alex quickly allows herself to get sucked up into.

  
    Alex smiles wide at Lauren, and Lauren grins back wickedly.

  
    From there on out, it’s easy to let her inner fire take over and drive her motions. She ignites pretty easily—she’s already steaming from Kelley’s tackle—and when Tobin has the audacity to tempt her with a game of cat and mouse and then leaves her jostled and dispossessed, all bets are off.

  
    Alex Morgan unimpeded is a very different kind of soccer player.

  
    Alex had learned to lock that side of her up when it got her sent off in one of her college matches, but if they’re looking to play dangerous now, Alex will give it to them. She might be the youngest, but she’s in no way the shortest or lightest on the team, and she’s willing to show it.

  
    She breaks the instant Abby passes the ball back to Lauren. They’ve been over this play before. Lauren draws Amy and Megan to her and Abby calls the defenders attention to her with a long run, allowing Alex to sneak through the back line and set up a shot on Barnie.

  
    Ali catches on to what’s happening the second Alex stops pacing herself and guns it towards the far left, and she’s set to close her down the instant Lauren launches the ball her way, but this time Alex sees it coming, sees her coming.

  
    She hits the brakes hard and without warning and sends Ali sprawling over her. A quick touch to the ball ensures her possession, and then all that stands between her and the goal is Kelley and Barnie.

  
    She turns to go left but sees Tobin bearing down hard on her, running in full extension, determined to shut her down, because the last place anyone wants Alex to be is in the box, where she’s an immediate threat, regardless of her age and experience.

  
    Alex banks right instead, forcing Tobin to overrun her and track back around to get goal side of her, and uses those extra seconds to pull Kelley towards her as she heads for the back corner of the box.

  
    The freckled girl follows her determinedly, brow furrowed and eyes tracking the ball, and it’s exactly what Alex needs.

  
    She uses her speed and longer legs to pull in front of her, refusing to stray in her path towards the end of the box, and then in a similar manner as before, slams on the brakes and twists, turning out of Kelley’s path, catching her foot in the process.

  
    Caught off guard and tapped by Alex’s leg, Kelley collapses in a heap of curse words and grass stains.

  
    Alex uses the momentum to turn and while she knows she can make the shot—even if the angle is a little daunting and the distance is a bit too wide—she crosses the ball to Abby instead, who in the midst of the distraction of Alex’s run has made a run of her own.

  
    Alex slides the ball to her with ease, and she sinks it without problem, drawing them level.

  
    It’s not Abby that Lauren jumps on though, it’s her, and within a short few seconds Abby joins them, pushing at their shoulders and shouting in excitement, in celebration, and Alex lets herself get caught up in it all, lets herself feel proud, especially when she turns to see Tobin and Kelley standing dejectedly off to the side, glaring something fierce in their direction.

  
    It may not have been her own goal, but it’s a goal regardless, and it gives them the result they need.

  
    “Wicked pass, Al,” Lauren tells her, rubbing at her head and laughing when she yelps and jumps away, unwilling to have her hair messed up, “Lets do it again.”

  
    They do it again, totally shutting down their opposing team. Lauren knocks Amy down the second she dares to try and mount an offense, and Abby runs circles around Tobin, frustrating her to no ends, drawing her further and further out of her positioning.

  
    The next time the ball finds Alex’s foot, she puts it away herself, elegantly sliding it just under the crossbar and into the left back corner, well out of Barnie’s reach.  
    When she looks up, Pia’s watching again, but this time she’s watching her.

  
    When she puts her hands together in applause for the goal, Alex feels alive.

  
                        - - -

  
    Amy and Tobin refuse to talk to Lauren in the locker room, sulking angrily at the utter desecration that her team had put them through, but Lauren doesn’t care, just smirks sweetly at them and waltzes over to change next to Alex.

  
    “You were on fire today, Alex,” Lauren tells her, and when she looks her way Alex swears there is a soft affection within the blue of her eyes.

  
    “Please,” Alex says lightheartedly, pulling her clean t-shirt over her head, “I wouldn’t have even gotten in the box if it weren’t for your passes. You’re kind of a beast, Cheney,” Alex tells her, and it’s the first time that Lauren laughs loudly and without reservation in her presence. It makes Alex smile, makes her laugh along with her.

  
    “You’re cute,” Lauren tells her, flashing her a wink as she pulls on a pair of sweatpants, “I can see why Tobin likes you so much,” She says, and then they both have to work hard to keep from guffawing as Tobin hears her name leave Lauren’s mouth and shoots her the dirtiest, most displeased look Alex has ever seen grace her features.

  
    They fall into a comfortable silence as they finish dressing, but Lauren’s lacing up her sneakers when she suddenly shoots up and grabs at Alex’s hand, stopping her before she can leave to get on the bus back to the hotel.

  
    “Hey, we’re having a little movie night after dinner in Tobin and Kelley’s room. It’s going to be them and Arod and me. You should come, it’ll be fun,” Lauren says, and then her nose wrinkles as she grins and adds as an afterthought, “and I don’t think I’ll be able to survive being alone with all three of them out to get me,” She continues, giggling softly.

  
    Alex laughs with her and then purses her lips in deliberation, her eyes flashing to Tobin who is bent over, heatedly throwing her cleats into her boot bag.

  
    “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Cheney,” She says, accepting her offer.

  
    Lauren smiles and stands up, giving her a nod of approval.

  
    “Cool. You can follow me up right after dinner. We’re going to watch She’s The Man,” Lauren tells her.

  
    Alex doesn’t get much room to disobey her orders. She’s barely finished her vegetables and isn’t even halfway through her discussion with Sydney on her recent boy problems when Lauren finds her and grabs her and insists she come immediately before Tobin and Arod jump her.

  
    Alex follows her obediently after saying goodbye to Sydney, and then they’re walking into Tobin and Kelley’s hotel room, only the dull blue screen of the TV lighting it up.  


  
    The room smells of vanilla shampoo and cold chicken—which Alex soon discovers to be from Kelley, who managed to sneak up some of her leftover dinner—and the three girls Lauren had mentioned are all piled up on the bed farthest from the window, Tobin in the middle with Kelley and Amy curled up at her sides.

  
    The glares they send their way as they enter are almost comical, and Alex disguises a laugh as a cough.

  
    “Oh good, Cheney. You brought the other cheater with you,” Amy says, her eyes hard and directed at the both of them, and Kelley squirms to get a look at Alex and then gasps and frowns, sitting up and jostling Tobin from her positioning against her shoulder.

  
    “Oh hey there Alex,” Kelley huffs, her arms crossing, “Didn’t know you were coming, thought you were probably just going to go play _cleat-ball_ somewhere again,” Kelley says, her eyes fiery.

  
    The insult is so weak Alex almost breaks down right there, and Cheney actually lets a laugh escape her as she puts her hands on her hips and flashes Alex an amused smile.

  
    It’s Tobin’s backing of the insult that solidifies it.

  
    “Yeah, _cleat-ball_ ,” Tobin emphasizes with an important air, and suddenly they can’t get a single sentence out without uttering their new phrase.

  
    Alex rolls her eyes and turns, displaying her leg, now cleanly bandaged after one of the trainers had caught sight of it.

  
    “Excuse you, O’Hara. You started it. Shouldn’t deal it out if you can’t take it back,” Alex returns hotly, unafraid as she stares the freckled girl down.

  
    She revels in the shock that filters through the girls eyes, in the pout that forms on her face.

  
    “That tackle was all ball and you know it,” Kelley protests, and once again Tobin is immediately there, parroting back everything she says.

  
    “All ball,” Tobin affirms, her eyes a vivid, ardent brown as she stares Alex down challengingly.

  
    “Nothing but ball,” Amy confirms with a huff and a nod.

  
    Lauren sighs deeply and grabs Alex’s arm, pulling her over to the bed near the window and flopping down on it before patting the space beside her.

  
    “Don’t listen to them, Al. They’re just mad that a twenty-one year old handed them their ass,” Lauren says, and Alex giggles and spreads out next to her, stretching her tired limbs and yawning before making herself comfortable.

  
    “She’s basically twenty-two,” Kelley says, narrowing her eyes, “Tobin, isn’t she twenty-two?” Kelley demands.

  
    Tobin widens her eyes, nods her head.

  
    “Basically.”

  
    “Shut up,” Lauren whines, starting to get annoyed, “You guys lost and you suck. Now put the movie on. And where are all the snacks? I was told there would be snacks,” Lauren complains.

  
    Amy throws a pillow at her which Alex deflects, and Lauren sits up to glare daggers at her.

  
    “The cheaters buy the snacks,” Amy tells her, eyes flashing, and then suddenly Lauren’s up and across the room and has pulled Amy down onto the floor.

  
    Tobin and Kelley instantly move to the side of the bed, laughter trilling between them as the two girls wrestle below.

  
    “Get her Amy!” Tobin calls out as Kelley giggles maniacally.

  
    It’s Lauren that ends up on top, her sheer size winning the battle before it even starts, and she pins Amy triumphantly, looks down at her with a pointed eye.

  
    “Who buys the snacks?” She threatens her teasingly, and Amy huffs and pushes her off of her begrudgingly.

  
    “I’ll buy your stupid snacks, fat-ass,” Amy huffs, and Lauren smiles sweetly and presses a kiss to her cheek.

  
    “That’s right, you will,” Lauren coos appreciatively and then clambers back up onto the bed, smug and satisfied.

  
    Amy comes back with skittles and sour patch kids for them and Alex looks to Lauren appreciatively. Lauren just giggles and steals all the red skittles out of her package and chews them up until her breath is sweet.

  
    She leans into Alex around the halfway mark of the movie, pressing her shoulder into her, calling for her attention, which Alex gives her silently, raising a curious, pointed brow. Lauren just nods in the direction of the other bed.

  
    When Alex turns she finds the three of them cuddled up together again, Kelley dozing off on Tobin’s shoulder and Amy’s arms around her waist.

  
    “You want to get back at Tobin?” Lauren chuckles softly, and Alex nods before the words are even out of her mouth, a matching grin finding its way onto her face.

  
    Lauren presses her lips together to keep from smiling and sits up a little straighter, wraps a gentle arm around Alex’s shoulders and pulls her closer to her, into her side.

  
    “Don’t freak out,” Lauren says, flashing her a wink, “and pretend to fall asleep.”

  
    Alex obliges immediately, using her time well to sell her exhaustion, which isn’t really that hard because she actually is tired. It’s easy to lean into the soft, sweet smelling girl beside her and close her eyes.

  
    If she pretends—and doesn’t breathe in the lavender of Lauren’s shampoo—she can almost convince herself that it’s Tobin holding her.  

  
    At first Tobin doesn’t even notice the newfound closeness, she just continues to stare at the TV with sleepy eyes, happily serving as a pillow to the other two. About five minutes later though Lauren coughs and starts trailing her fingertips up and down Alex’s bare arm, tickling it gently, soothingly.

  
    It feels nice.

  
    Tobin’s head snaps to attention almost immediately, but Lauren keeps her stare deadlocked on the TV, refusing to give in, forcing Tobin to call attention to it herself.  


  
    “Cheney!” Tobin’s whisper of indignation—soft to keep from disturbing the sleeping girls by her sides—is frustrated and flooded with disapproval as she addresses the girl, “What the hell are you doing?”

  
    Lauren doesn’t stop the path of her fingers, if anything she makes her strokes longer, softer. She turns her head gently, with care, strategically pressing the corner of her mouth to Alex’s forehead as she turns to look at Tobin.

  
    “What?” Lauren asks with a heavy sigh, her body pulling Alex closer to her, and Alex can barely keep the smile off her face to begin with, so she allows herself to be tucked deeper into Lauren’s side, “I’m not doing anything,” She insists.

  
    A noise of disbelief and distaste escapes Tobin, and Lauren shushes her warningly.

  
    “Why are you touching her? Stop that, it’s weird,” Tobin practically demands, a bit taken aback at Lauren’s sudden forwardness.

  
    “Keep your voice down, you’re going to wake everyone up,” Lauren tells her firmly, “And I mean, you didn’t exactly seem to be occupying her, and she’s pretty warm so, you know, why not?” Lauren asks, and then squeezes Alex’s thigh in warning as soft giggles threaten to escape her mouth and give them away. Alex obeys the pressure blindly and pushes closer to Lauren’s shirt in order to silence herself.

  
    She hears Tobin start to shift around, start to try and maneuver her way out from under the girls using her as a pillow.

  
    “Why are you like this?” Tobin complains in a whisper, struggling to get her shoulder out from Kelley without disturbing her, “When I get over there I’m going to kick your—is your hand on her thigh!?” Tobin demands, aghast.

  
    Lauren barely manages to keep it together, Alex can feel the effort she puts forth into controlling her voice when her chest tightens. Lauren slides her hand away from Alex’s thigh.

  
    “Of course not, it’s on her knee,” Lauren says, and squeezes her lightly there, nudges her with her shoulder.

  
    Alex takes the action as an acceptable cue.

  
    “Tobin?” She breathes out sleepily, but with enough volume to be heard, and moves further into Lauren, snuggling up to her, fingers grabbing at her t-shirt.

  
    Lauren lowers her voice in order to adapt some of Tobin’s natural rhythms.

  
    “Right here, striker,” She says, pressing a kiss to Alex’s forehead.

  
    Tobin shoots up like she’s been electrified, waking Amy and Kelley up, and they immediately complain and whine as Tobin storms over to the other bed.

  
    “Tobin?” Kelley asks groggily, “Where are you going?” She hums, but Amy just shifts forwards and curls into her and that subdues her pretty well.

  
    “Get out, get off, get away,” Tobin huffs as she stalks around the bed to grab at Lauren’s arm, “I’m never leaving you alone with her again.”

  
    Lauren laughs but rolls away from Alex immediately, springing up and heading over to curl up by Amy, and Alex has never felt more affection for the girl than she does now.

  
    Tobin moves to take her place, her arms immediately wrapping around her waist and pulling her up and into her familiar warmth.

  
    Alex rolls over, pretending to stir, and blinks her tired blue eyes up at Tobin slowly, softly.

  
    “Tobin?” She repeats again, and this time snuggles right up to her, grabbing her t-shirt strongly in her hand and pushing her nose up against her collarbone, allowing herself to breath in her soft vanilla scent, letting her lips brush lightly against her skin, making her shiver.

  
    Tobin pulls her closer, lets her head rest against her cheek and presses a soft kiss to the side of her face.

  
    “Right here, striker,” She says, repeating Lauren’s words and flashing a fierce glare in her direction, “ _my striker_ ,” She adds lowly, more to herself than anyone else.

  
     She pulls back a little from Alex then, taps a finger sweetly to her nose as she nuzzles into her neck.

  
    “Right here.”

  
                        - - -  
    The following practice, Tobin’s on her team, and it makes a surprising amount of difference.

  
    Until that point the extent of their soccer careers have been rather separate. They’ve never seen the field together, and have always squared off against one another on the practice pitch, never having played on the same side.

  
    That all changes when Pia decides to switch up the team groupings.

  
    They both get placed under pink neon pinnies—which Tobin complains about for at least three whole minutes—and on their team of eight, Alex doesn’t expect to be the only forward, but she is.

  
    They play a bizarre formation, one only used in practice simulations, with four defenders, three midfielders and her, all alone at the top.

  
    “It’s just for fun,” Pia tells them when her corresponding forward counterparts start to complain about the lack of creativity such a setup forces upon them, “Just to mix things up a little bit.”

  
    Her tone and her word placement don’t make it sound like fun. Alex knows better. This is a test, that’s what Pia is telling them, because it’s one thing to be able to score goals with the help of another forward, but it’s a whole other thing entirely to do it on your own.

  
    Lone strikers are an almost romanticized ideal within the professional soccer realm—few and far between, and even the ones that do exist almost always burn themselves out when the pressure gets to be too much or their bodies break down.

  
    Those that manage to survive and make it through, however, become the best offensive players in the world.

  
     _Mia Ham_ , her brain reminds her as she stops her complaints from leaving her mouth and yanks her pinny down over her training gear.

  
    She looks up to find dark brown, curious eyes watching her from the other side of Pia.

  
_Abby Wambach_.

  
    Her eyes aren’t critical. She too stands without complaint, a blue pinny over her tall frame. She gives her a small smile when their eyes meet, wistful, analytical, and then raises her hand in a thumbs up.

  
     _Alex Morgan_ , her mind finishes for her.

  
    She turns away and towards the field, stretching out her arms, and Tobin’s there next to her, all wide smiles and fired up eyes as she reaches out and bumps her fist against Alex’s.

  
    “Ready to kick some ass?”

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex has her best practice of the camp, which is a little insane, because she’s been having a lot of fantastic practices.

  
    At first she’s nervous, because their first game Pia puts her up against Abby, and if there is one thing that is terrifying and unfamiliar to Alex, it’s going up against the best forward in the world.

  
    Also, Pia is watching her like a hawk, and it makes her sweat nervously, makes her feel hot and uncomfortable.

  
    She gets over it pretty quickly though. Her first touches are a little off as she adjusts to having so much room to roam around in. It’s odd, not having to stick to a set side, but it’s the first time Alex thinks she might understand why Tobin likes to have so much space around her.

  
    It’s fun to run freely, without parameters. The field looks that much bigger, the goal that much wider, the potential of it all that much more imminent and undeniable.

  
    Still, she’s a little shaky the first time Megan sends her in a pass, and she gives it away to an aggressive Becky almost immediately. It’s her only mistake of the game, because after that it’s Tobin who ends up with the ball at her feet the majority of the time.

  
    Tobin is a joy to watch. She’s a trickster, a free-spirit, all pace and skill and strategy.

  
    And, as Alex quickly finds out, incredibly talented when it comes to putting the ball right smack-dab on her foot.

  
    The first time it happens Alex isn’t even really paying attention. She had expected a wide cross to Megan, but then something literally smacks her on the foot and the she looks down and oh, the ball is there, and a grinning Tobin is standing fifteen yards away with a satisfied look on her face.

  
    The defense tries to close her down immediately after, but there’s not much they can do when she’s getting service onto her foot while standing in the box.  


  
    Alex shoots and scores without problem, and Tobin’s much closer to her when she turns to celebrate.

  
    She smiles as the girls pats her on the back and jump around excitedly, smiles when Abby gives her a look of approval from across the field, when Pia nods her head and turns to watch another game.

  
    But she smiles most of all when Tobin runs a hand up her arm, when her eyes twinkle, when her lips part and a soft laugh escapes past the white of her teeth.

  
    “You and me,” Tobin reminds her, with a wink that sets her heart beating fast, and not just because it’s hot out and she’s been running like a dog.

  
    Alex smiles back, nods her head.

  
    “You and me.”

  
    The words start sounding less like some unattainable fantasy and more like a promise with every other goal she scores.

  
                        - - -

  
    They’ve both been good about keeping their relationship on the down-low. Even after Tobin’s proclamation of love and liberal use of the girlfriend term, Alex isn’t sure exactly what they are, and doesn’t feel like broadcasting that to the entire team.

  
    And Tobin doesn’t seem bothered to tell anyone either. Lauren knows of course, but she doesn’t really count, because Alex is pretty sure that Lauren knew before Tobin so much as dared to look at her for a few extra seconds.

  
    It sure doesn’t stop Tobin from expressing herself though, not even in the slightest.

  
    It starts with just the two of them playing ping-pong in the rec. room after Lauren gets bored of playing round the table and goes to find Amy.

  
    Tobin’s trying to convince Alex that they can still in fact keep playing around the table with just two people—they just have to run really fast—and Alex is too busy trying to deny her claims, too busy trying to do the calculations in her head on why that is completely impossible, to see her running full tilt in her direction.

  
    All she knows is that one moment she’s got both feet firmly planted on the ground and the next she’s been swept up and pressed into a warm body.

  
    Alex yelps and flails, kicking wildly in hopes of connecting with the ground, but she just hears Tobin’s laugh, just feels Tobin’s grip on her waist strengthen, and then she’s sitting on the ping-pong table, Tobin planted firmly between her legs, her brown eyes very close and very amused.

  
    “What are you doing—”

  
    She cuts her off with a kiss.

  
    Of course, thoughts of why they shouldn’t be kissing on the ping-pong table don’t even cross her mind. All she knows is that Tobin is warm and her lips are soft—coated in a sweet smelling chapstick for once, instead of being left to dry out—and that she’s feeling very handsy today, because her palms run up the length of her thighs to her waist and then around to her back, where they duck under her training shirt and count the well defined ridges of her spine.

  
    It’s sweet, simple, and a welcome break from the constant flow of the camp.

  
    Tobin is quickly becoming Alex’s favorite distraction.

  
    She doesn’t know why they don’t hear the voices or the footsteps as they approach the rec. room, all she understands is that one moment it’s dead quiet and the next a very unsubtle gasp is sounding out from behind them.

  
    Alex is the one facing the door, so when Tobin freezes up against her and shifts, she’s the first one to get a glimpse of the reason for their disruption.

  
    Her eyes are greeted with a very flustered Kelley O’Hara, her cheeks tinged pink, her jaw wide open, her eyes larger than they should be.

  
    A rather unfazed Lauren stands behind her, hands on her hips and an odd light in her soft blue eyes, one that Alex doesn’t recognize until Tobin pulls her hands out from under her shirt and turns to face her two friends sheepishly.

  
    Exasperation. That’s what Lauren’s look conveys. Amusement, but exasperation.

  
    It’s pointed more at Tobin than Alex though, so it doesn’t effect her the way it does Tobin, doesn’t make her cough awkwardly and stare at her shoes.

  
    This is uncharted territory for the both of them. Besides Lauren and Ted—and Servando, Alex reminds herself—no one knows anything about the nature of their relationship.  


  
    It’s not like it’s a secret per say, it’s just something they’ve never talked about, and Alex has never been huge on PDA to start with, so she doesn’t expect to find herself in this kind of a situation until she’s thirty, or married, either is acceptable at this point.

  


  
    She tries to look at Tobin but the girl won’t meet her eye. She does keep a tight grip on her hand though, so it makes her feel more secure, especially when she looks back at Kelley and—yeah, the girl’s still in a rather shocked state.

  
    Alex does her best to hide behind Tobin. They are, after all, first and foremost her friends, so she figures that it’s only fair she deals with them.

  
    If it was Sydney or Abby who had stumbled upon them, then Alex would be the one to take the front on providing an explanation.

  
    Maybe.

  
    “Uuuhhh…” Tobin’s long, drawn out syllable is more or less ignored as Kelley continues to look at them like they’ve grown two heads, “Kells?”

  
    Tobin gets no response, except from Lauren, who starts laughing, and then extends a hand towards a continuously motionless Kelley.

  
    “Told you,” Lauren’s voice taunts, “That’ll be twenty dollars. Suck it, O’Hara.”

  
    Next to her Tobin stiffens once more, but this time for a different reason. When Alex shifts to look at her, her eyes are narrowed.

  
    “Unbelievable,” Kelley says, hazel eyes still trained on them, scrutinizing, “Unbe-fucking-lievable,” She continues, and then starts digging around in the pockets of her pants, flashing an irritated look Lauren’s way, “You knew. I should have know something was up the second you took me up on a bet,” She huffs, her irritation clear as she produces her wagered money,

  
    Lauren just smiles sweetly and plucks the bill from her unwilling hands.

  
    “I was completely unaware, just like you,” Lauren tells her, stuffing the money into her own pocket, “How could I possibly have known?” She continues on, grinning wickedly Kelley’s way, until the smaller girl huffs and pushes her shoulder.

  
    “You’re a liar and a cheater, Cheney,” She says sourly, and then scrambles to get away as Lauren makes a soft cooing noise and tries to grab at her.

  
    “Oh you poor little squirrel, you,” Lauren says, a trilling laughter in her tone as Kelley hops away from her with a noise of disgust.

  
    “Shut up. I can’t believe I just lost twenty dollars over this,” Kelley says, annoyance clear in her gaze.

  
    “Uh, excuse you. Twenty dollars and ten red skittles, remember?” Lauren chides her, and Kelley rolls her eyes and groans dramatically.

  
    Next to Alex, Tobin starts laughing, and Alex allows herself to relax, lets her body creep out from behind the shelter of Tobin’s.

  
    “Do they have to be red?” Kelley asks, and barely gets the words out before Lauren jumps to give her answer.

  
    “What do you mean, do they have to be red? Of course they have to be red, otherwise I wouldn’t have said ten _red_ skittles.”

  
    Kelley deflates miserably—a bit like a sad balloon—and Tobin starts laughing harder.

  
    Her grip on Alex’s hand lessens, then pulls insistently away.

  
    Alex lets her go.

  
    At her laughter Kelley turns and redirects her anger, her glare sharp and lip curled down with scorn.

  
    “Shut up, you asshole,” She whines, approaching the tanned girl with crossed arms and a raised brow, “That’s the last time I ever bet in your favor, believe me. The one time I need you to not be sucking someone’s face off, of course you somehow are—shut up Alex!” Kelley’s glare flashes to Alex when she dares to giggle, and Alex turns and hides her smirk in Tobin’s shoulder.

  
    Tobin lets her.

  
    “That money’s coming out of your paycheck, Tobin, I swear to God I can’t even right now—”

  
    “Hey!” Tobin interrupts, “It’s not my fault you two take pleasure in making money off of me. You bet, you pay. That’s what’s up,” Tobin says, nodding importantly, flashing a quick look Alex’s way, to which she grins in response.

  
    “Well sorry I had enough faith in you to be convinced that you wouldn’t be making out with the baby on the team—and on the ping-pong table—”

  
    “You said it yourself, Kells,” Tobin cuts her off, throwing a lazy arm around Alex’s shoulders, “She’s basically twenty-two.”

  
    Kelley stares up at Tobin, open mouthed and fuming.

  
    “You know what? It’s on, Tobin Heath, doubles match, right now. Alex is on my team.” Kelley says, and then walks over and snatches Alex’s arm and pulls her away, and after Kelley flashes her a wink, Alex allows it to happen.

  
    Tobin whines, clinging to Alex’s hand until Kelley knocks her away and pushes her towards Lauren.

  
    “Kelley, what if I want to be on Alex’s team,” Tobin complains, but Kelley just huffs and drags Alex around to the other side of the table, sending a fierce glare Tobin and Lauren’s way.

  
    “I hate you, and I hate Cheney, so I’ll have to settle for the one I only moderately dislike,” Kelley says, and at first Alex recoils, but then Kelley looks at her with a gentle smile, a soft affection in her eyes, and Alex knows she doesn’t mean it.

  
    “Also, I think you’ve had more than your fair share of Alex today, so why don’t you just pipe down and pick up your paddle?” Kelley questions with false sweetness, and before Tobin can close her mouth, hits the ball across the table.

  
     “We get first serve.”

  
                        - - -

  
    They utterly desecrate Tobin and Lauren. It’s almost sad.

  
    It makes Kelley grin like an idiot though, and when they beat them for the third time in a row she jumps onto Alex like they’ve just won the World Cup and doesn’t let go.

  
    Alex doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

  
                        - - -

  
    “Wait a minute,” Tobin says after the third game, turning to Lauren, “Knowledge on our relationship is only worth twenty dollars to you?” Tobin demands, her tone scathing and filled with accusation.

  
    Lauren rolls her eyes and sets her paddle down.

  
    “ _And_ ten red skittles, Toby. Why does every keep forgetting my skittles?”

  
    Tobin doesn’t pause, just sets her own paddle down and immediately tackles her to the ground.

  
    Kelley whoops in excitement and practically climbs over the table to get a better view of the fight, and once she does, looks over with a smirk on her lips and mischief in her eyes.

  
    “Hey Alex,” She calls out, “I’ve got twenty bucks that says Cheney hands your girl her ass.”

  
    Alex smiles and looks down at the two wrestling girls.

  
    “You’re on.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Kelley O’Hara ends up loosing forty dollars that day.

  
                        - - -

  
    “Stop that tapping,” Tobin tells her, absentmindedly reaching out a hand to place it on her thigh and quiet her leg.

  
    Alex can’t help it. She’s nervous.

  
    They’ve only been in New Jersey for a week, but it feels like a small eternity.

  
    It’s been an odd week.

  
    A week of nervous apprehension, of tireless waiting.

  
    A week of uncertainty.

  
    Of course, it hasn’t been an odd week for Tobin. She gets the call almost the second their plane lands. In fact, they’ve just gotten into their taxi, and she’s just opened up her arms to let Alex lounge her tired body against hers, when her phone chimes and she straightens with a sigh to answer it.

  
    Alex makes to move back into her own seat, but Tobin keeps a hand wrapped around her middle and presses her warm lips—warm, but chapped— against her forehead and invites her to stay in the shelter of her arms as she answers the call, her chin resting on the top of Alex’s head.

  
    “It’s Tobin,” She husks out tiredly, one hand holding the cell phone to her ear, the other moving to play mindlessly with the third and fourth fingers on Alex’s left hand.

  
    Alex feels the sudden jolt go through Tobin as she suddenly shifts to sit ramrod straight, pushing Alex back into her own seat in the process, to which Alex looks at her without amusement.

  
    “Oh, hey Pia,” Tobin says then, and immediately Alex isn’t annoyed anymore, just excited.

  
    Tobin hangs up after five minutes of laughter and smiles and turns to look at Alex with a wide grin.

  
    “I’m going to Germany.”

  
    It’s such a simple statement. _I’m going to Germany_. As if all her dreams aren’t suddenly coming true, as if years and years of hard work and effort aren’t now suddenly paying off. Sure, she’s been to Beijing with the national team before, back when she and Lauren and Amy really were just new kids. This is different. Tobin’s not a reserve player anymore. She’s on the team now, a working cog in it’s success.

  
    If—when the US is in Germany on the top podium, it will be because she helped them get there.

  
    The feeling she experiences is similar to the one she had the night of the WPS draft, when they called Tobin’s name first out of all the immense talent in the room, when she went from Tobin Heath the soccer player to Tobin Heath, the _pro_ soccer player.

  
    It’s a feeling of immense pride, one that wells up and floods her senses. Pride in all that Tobin is able to accomplish. Pride in that a person like her would chose to be with Alex as intimately as she has been.

  
    And alongside it, of course, it that little niggling inch of fear, that little voice that sits in the back of Alex’s mind and wonders what if you’re not worth it?

  
    Alex shuts those thoughts up and shuffles across the backseat to grab Tobin by the chin, and tugs her beaming face and burning eyes down to her own to kiss her.

  
    “That’s incredible,” She tells her, when Tobin allows her to breath, her hand secured tightly around her neck as she pecks her a few times in a row, “You’re incredible.”

  
    Tobin looks a little dazed when Alex pulls back, a little overwhelmed by the amount of positive stimulus coming her way. Her eyes are melted chocolate when they look down at her, just as warm and just as soft.

  
    She reaches out with a closed fist and balances Alex’s chin along the lines of her knuckles before smiling sweetly at her and pressing a feather light kiss to the tip of her nose.

  
    “You’re not so bad yourself, striker,” She says, and her eyes are bright, like two burning suns when she says it, and just as large.

  
    The words don’t sound like a compliment, not to Alex’s ears, who have long since been trained in the meanings of Tobin’s words and tone.

  
    The more she thinks it over, the less they sound like a thanks and the more they start to sound like something much more dangerous, something a little more complicated, but before Tobin gets to say what she really means, the cab gets to her new apartment and Alex gets a little distracted.

  
    Tobin had refused to show her any pictures of her new place, had decided it would be a surprise, and Alex hadn’t understood why it had to be such a big deal.  
    Now, though, she kind of understands.

  
    She gasps before she can stop herself, because what their taxi has driven them to is no apartment.

  
    It’s a house.

  
    Like, a _house_ , house. White shutters, blue door, white picket fence and all.

  
    And it’s not a huge house—not even a particularly large house—but it’s anything but small.

  
    Alex blinks up at it a few times, unsure if what she’s seeing is actually there.

  
    She looks to Tobin and the girl’s eyes are fixed on her face, intent in the manner that they take in her reaction.

  
    “Tobin,” She’s a bit breathless with her words, “What did you do?”

  
    A soft smile plays across Tobin’s lips. They’re still chapped, but Alex doesn’t really care anymore.

  
    Tobin takes a deep breath, opens her mouth like she might say something but then closes it again, pays the taxi, and gets out and starts pulling their duffle bags out of the back of the cab, first Alex’s, then her own hideous orange one.

  
    “Tobin!” Alex follows her quickly out the car, wide awake now, “Tobin, what is this?”

  
    Again Tobin just smiles, refusing to say anything to her, and pulls both of their bags over her shoulder before reaching out for her hand and taking it gently in her own.  


  
    “Do you like it?” There’s a soft excitement building up underneath her words, growing tumultuously with every passing second.

  
    “It’s completely inappropriate!”

  
    “I know,” Tobin huffs with a roll of her eyes, “I know. But Alex, _do you like it?”_  


  
    Her words are enough to shut Alex the hell up.

  
    Does she like it?

  
    She tears her eyes from Tobin’s grinning mouth and huge eyes and looks out at the property in front of her—really looks—for the first time.

  
    It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

  
    The house stands solid and structured about thirty feet away from them, at the end of a long brick driveway, a sprawling and dark green front lawn following it all the way up to the porch.

  
    It’s made of a strong, towering stone, one that stacks into two stories and then tapers off into a triangular roof. Four giant windows face them from the front of the house, all illuminated in a strong golden light, turned on to combat the fade of the setting sun.

  
    Red roses run along the border of the white porch, wrapping elegantly around the back, where the dark green of a six foot hedge fences in the backyard.

  
    In the front yard, two large white dogwood trees stand guard and frame the fixtures of the house with the petals of their leaves. The grass is scattered white in a perfect circle around them, like snow on a freezing day, but the wind is warm through the branches and through Alex’s hair when it picks up and carries some of the white flowers in their direction.

  
    It puts a lump in Alex’s throat, sparks some tears in her eyes which she tries to blink quickly away.

  
    “Tobin?” She’s afraid suddenly. Afraid of what all of this is, afraid Tobin is about to give her more than can repay, “Whose house is this?”

  
    Tobin’s hand feels heavy in hers, especially when she squeezes it softly.

  
    “Come on,” She says with a soft smile, and then tugs her up onto the driveway and leads her down towards the house, the bags awkwardly thumping together against her shoulder, which is bowed from the weight of them both.

  
    Alex follows obediently as they wander up the walkway. Tobin’s breath is oddly labored, and the way she holds onto her is instinctual, a clutch reaction.

  
    Tobin’s nervous.

  
    It does nothing to settle the sudden fire in Alex’s stomach.

  
    They get to the front door and Tobin lets her hand go for a moment to loot around her pocket for her key, and Alex’s eyes go back to looking at everything because there is so much to look at.

  
    The key she pulls out is small and red.

  
    She sticks it into the lock, kicks open the door and pulls Alex into what must be the most perfect house Alex has ever seen.

  
    It’s no that it’s particularly grand, it’s just that it’s so ridiculously Tobin.

  
    There’s signs of life—of her life—everywhere.

  
    The coat room they stand in is particularly filled with it. There’s three jackets hanging to Alex’s left, all which she recognizes. Tobin wore the beige the first time she picked her up from the airport in Atlanta, wore the black the night she took her to the Olympic Park. The dark green was the one Tobin wore when they met in the airport baggage claim at Alex’s second camp, and the same jacket was the one Tobin wrapped around herself the day she left Alex’s apartment in California to fly to Casey’s wedding.  


  
    It’s funny how they’ve all ended up here in this house, all hanging neatly next to one another, like they haven’t see more of Tobin’s life than Alex has, more than she probably ever will.

  
    There’s a folded UNC hoodie on the shoe rack, next to a pair of black Vans and her rose Nike sneakers.

  
    On the opposite wall, there’s six pairs of her favorite cleats, two more pairs of sneakers, and a worn orange snapback from when she had torn up her ankle and had wanted something to match the bright color of her cast.

  
    The more Alex looks around, the more apparent it becomes as to just whose house this is.

  
    She feels Tobin’s stare burning into her face, but she doesn’t know how to respond to it, doesn’t know what to say, just looks at everything but her and tries to keep her face from flushing a brighter red than it already is.

  
    Tobin doesn’t try to make her look at her, just tugs her hand again and opens the coatroom up into the foyer and then leads her down the hall and into the bright lights of the kitchen.  

  
    They’re both surprised to find an elderly couple sitting by the table, fast asleep, but not nearly as surprised as the elderly couple is to see them.

  
    Still, Tobin’s hand tightens around hers.

  
    “Oh my,” The woman says as she awakens sleepily, and then shoots up, her eyes flashing to the clock light on the stove, “You’re early! Oh dear, George, get up,” The woman had said, slapping the man’s shoulder, who had been dozing beside her in the kitchen chair, spectacles askew on his nose and an old newspaper opened up in front of him.

  
    The man jolts into awareness, straightening his glasses and blinking up tiredly at them before grinning widely.

  
    “Tobin,” He says, standing slowly and stretching his back, “You’re home. Three hours early?” The man then asks, glancing over at the clock as well before moving to stand by the woman.

  
    Tobin relaxes by Alex’s side and releases her hand, stepping forward with a wide smile.

  
    “Hey Mr. Lynne, Mrs. Lynne,” She says warmly, a soft affection overtaking her. She too looks to the clock.

  
    “I didn’t realize we were going to be so early. I should have called ahead, I’m sorry,” She apologizes, looking a bit like a scolded puppy, and the couple melts in her presence about as easily as Alex does.

  
    “Oh, it’s no fault of yours dear, you must be so exhausted. That crazy team has you flying to all ends of the Earth and back,” Mrs. Lynne says, and Tobin laughs in amusement as she is pulled forward into the shorter woman’s arms for a hug.

  
    “Really it’s our fault,” Mr. Lynne says, “If Helene hadn’t fallen asleep at the table, we would have been out of here hours ago.”

  
    Mrs. Lynne releases Tobin and turns to him with a pointed brow, her hands on her hips.

  
    “Oh really. And here I thought it was you who fell asleep at the table, George,” She says dryly. The man scoffs and rolls his eyes.

  
    “Your mind is going, woman,” He says, turning to Tobin, “Just last week she tried to come in here and start getting it ready, and I had to tell her ‘No, Helene, Tobin’s not coming back ‘till next Tuesday.’ Can you imagine?” He asks, exasperated, and Tobin hums appreciatively and then turns and shoots Alex an amused look.

  
    Mr. Lynne follows the path of her gaze, and once Alex enters into his line of vision, his eyes light up.

  
    “Well I’ll be. This can’t be Alex, can it?”

  
    His words are enough to stop Mrs. Lynne dead in her tracks from where she has started straightening dishes, and she whirls to look at Alex with big eyes and clasped hands and an open mouth.

  
    “Tobin Heath,” She says the second she sees Alex, shooting the midfielder a glare, “You told me she wouldn’t be here until Friday!”

  
    Tobin looks up at her sheepishly and rubs at the back of her neck.

  
    “There was a slight change of plans,” Tobin says, and Mrs. Lynne tsks her tongue and starts carrying more dishes from the kitchen table over to the sink.

  
    “Well now you really should have called ahead. I’ve only readied your room, I haven’t even looked in the guest rooms in who knows how long and don’t even get me started on the guest bathroom, and the space you wanted me to—”

  
    Mr. Lynne coughs awkwardly and cuts her off, flashing a wink Tobin’s way.

  
    “I’m sure Tobin can figure it out, dear. She’s a smart girl, you know,” He says, and then turns fully to look at Alex, “Now why don’t you let Tobin introduce us to her friend,” He says, and Mrs. Lynne frowns at him but nods and then turns a smiling face to look at Alex as well.

  
    Tobin quickly walks back to Alex and takes note of the uncertainty in her eyes. She takes her hand again gently, flashes her a quick, reassuring smile, and then turns back to face the Lynnes.

  
    “Alex, these are the Lynnes. They were close friends of my grandfather. They live across the street, and have been taking care of this house since I was sixteen,” Tobin says happily, gesturing her free hand towards the white haired couple, who both beam back in response.

  
    “Lynnes,” Tobin says again, and then pauses, and Alex feels her eyes on her for the second time that night. This time she turns to stare back at her, to examine her in return, because just how is she planning on introducing her? There’s not a lot of simple words for what they are, and she’s pretty sure that we play a lot of soccer and sometimes have sex and oh, we also might be in love is not what the Lynnes want to hear.

  
    “This is Alex Morgan,” Tobin says in the end, with a simplicity Alex had thought their relationship incapable of.

  
    She smiles a little shyly at the couple, waves a hand their way and tells them hello.

  
    “We’ve heard so much about you. Tobin’s always talking about you during her visits,” Mrs. Lynne says, her eyes bright, and Alex starts to smile until she continues, “We’re so happy that the two of you will be staying here from now on.”

  
    The smile fades from Alex’s face as soon as it forms, and her eyes find Tobin’s face immediately.

  
    Tobin’s jaw comes together hard and locks, a suddenly panicked element entering her eyes.

  
    “We’re going to be staying here?” Alex questions Tobin immediately. Tobin’s eyes fall to the floor, and a blush spreads across her cheeks as Mrs. Lynne looks on in confusion.  


  
    “Was that not the plan? Tobin told us that you’d be moving—”

  
    Mr. Lynne cuts her off again with a loud cough and a hand to her shoulder. When Alex dares to look away from Tobin, she sees him shake his head at his wife in warning.  


  
    “You know what?” Mr. Lynne says then, laughing awkwardly, “We should get out of your hair. You two must be exhausted. We can catch up another time,” He says, and then grabs his wife with one hand and wraps Tobin in a hug with the other, pressing a quick, rather fatherly kiss to her forehead, “So good to have you back, Tobin. Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” He says.

  
    Alex smiles at him and shakes his hand when he offers, then watches as he and Mrs. Lynne make their way out of the house, leaving her and Tobin alone in the kitchen.

  
    “But George, where will she sleep?” They both hear the couple speak as they put on their jackets and shoes.

  
    “Don’t worry, Helene,” George says, opening the door and ushering her out, “I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

  
    The door closes, and then it’s just the two of them again.

  
    Just her and Tobin.

  
    She immediately turns and crosses her arms, attempting to ignore the perfect house and keep Tobin in her sights.

  
    Tobin shuffles uncertainly, her long fingers playing with the straps of their duffle bags, still secured on her shoulder.

  
    “Tobin?” She asks, her voice low.

  
    Tobin sighs and runs a hand through her hair before meeting Alex’s eye.

  
    “They weren’t suppose to be here,” She says dejectedly, her eyes suddenly downcast, “It was just suppose to be you and me. I had a plan.”

  
    Alex is tired from the flight, tired from Tobin’s evasiveness.

  
    “Tobin,” She implores, “what is this?”

  
    Tobin finally looks up at her for one of the first times, and smiles wide in response.

  
    “Well,” She says after a slight pause, looking around herself, “this is my house,” She smiles when she says it, in a big way, one that makes Alex feel lighter.

  
    “I can see that,” She says with an easy sigh after a moment, and she shifts her weight from one tired, aching foot to the other, “How? How is this your house?”

  
    Tobin moves suddenly then, yanking out one of the chairs from the kitchen table and dropping their duffle bags with a heavy thud.

  
    “Why don’t you sit down? And I’ll get us something to eat,” She says, and then starts rummaging through the cabinets like she owns the place, which she does, Alex reminds herself tiredly.

  
    Tobin comes back a little sheepishly, a bright and large colorful bag in her hand.

  
    “Mrs. Lynne didn’t do the shopping because she didn’t think you were coming until Friday and I don’t like eating here by myself, so all that’s here are some animal crackers. I can go and get something though, if you want,” She says, but Alex just shakes her head and sits down and takes the bag from her, rips it open and pulls out a couple of horses.

  
    “This is fine,” She says, and then waits as patiently as she can for Tobin to sit down, munching on the rather stale vanilla crackers.

  
    Tobin sits down across from her and hesitantly reaches out for some crackers of her own before finding it in her to speak.

  
    “Okay. So this might work better if you ask the questions,” Tobin says, and Alex nods and chews thoughtfully.

  
    “Okay. How did you have enough money to buy this house? No, actually, why would you buy this house, Tobin?”

  
    “Um,” Tobin stammers a little, “It was my grandfathers. I used to spend the summers here with my siblings when we were younger. When my grandfather died, he left it to me. But I never really had a reason to live in it.”

  
    Alex stops eating her cracker, gives Tobin a dubious look.

  
    “He left this house to you? Why would he do that? You must have been, what, seventeen?”

  
    “Sixteen,” Tobin says, nodding her head, “And yeah, it was a bit of a problem, actually. It stirred up a lot of trouble in my family, ruined all the good memories I had of it. But that was years ago. We’ve all moved on from it, kind of,” She says.

  
    “Okay,” Alex says, blinking carefully, “And why did you decide to move into it now?”

  
    Tobin opens her mouth but then stops, quickly getting to her feet, like it hurts her to have to sit still.

  
    “Can I show you around?” She asks, a nervous light shining from within her eyes again, and Alex nods immediately and gets to her feet, leaves the bland whitr crackers behind and follows obediently as Tobin leads her into the living room.

  
    The house is beautiful and open, with high ceilings and huge windows that let Alex stare into the back yard. There’s more dogwood trees out back, and when Alex looks past them, she’s able to see the ocean no more than fifty yards away.

  
    “This has always been my favorite place,” Tobin says from beside her, and it’s easy to see why.

  
    The backyard is lit up by a collection of small garden lights, which place the green grass and the white trees on perfect display. On the distant horizon, the ocean is almost completely still, only a gentle tide bothering to disturb the sand. There’s a dock on the beach with a small boat tied to it, and a garden at the far side of the yard, a collection of green growing proudly from it.

  
    This is the kind of place Tobin Heath would live in. One with big open spaces and beautiful white trees and soft saltwater beaches. This is the kind of place where Tobin Heath belongs.

  
    “I’ve never been happier than between these walls,” Tobin says, coming to stand beside her at the window, and Alex’s gaze is drawn to her involuntarily, “It was the best part of the year, getting to stay here. The water was always warm and there was so much space to run around in. My grandfather used to set up a net between the dogwood trees and would feed me balls all day until I couldn’t feel my feet,” Tobin continues, laughing slightly at the memories, and Alex finds herself smiling, finds herself drawn in.

  
    “There used to be a forest where my next door neighbor now lives. At night fireflies used to come out to the dogwood trees, and my sisters and brother and I used to run around trying to catch them with our bare hands. They’re all gone now, they moved on,” She says, and Alex doesn’t know if she’s talking about her siblings or the fireflies.

  
    “We’d always have big bonfires down on the beach, and all the neighbors would come. We would play in the low tide and roast marshmallows and tell silly stories.”

  
    Alex doesn’t know why Tobin’s telling her all of this, but the look in her eyes makes her hesitant to interrupt, so she quiets herself and continues to listen as patiently as she can.

  
    Tobin starts leading her around as she talks, starts taking her through the multitude of rooms. They’re all rather elegant, but have a warm, cozy element to them that makes Alex want to curl up under the blankets and never leave.

  
    “We used to play games in the house when it would rain, and it always made our grandfather laugh. We broke a lot of his stuff doing that, but he never seemed to care, he’d just sweep it up and ask us to be careful, not because he wanted to preserve his stuff, but because he didn’t want us to get cut on the glass. He would always cook the best food, and one summer he let me help him and taught me how. At night he would read us stories and tuck us in, and in the morning he’d wake us up with music,” Tobin breaks off then, looks to Alex out of the corner of her eye.

  
    “I’ve never been happier than between these walls,” She repeats again, and Alex smiles softly at her and nods her head.

  
    “It’s very beautiful, Tobin,” She tells her genuinely, because it is, and there’s no point in lying.

  
    Tobin’s smile becomes a little sad as she leads Alex to the upstairs, the old wood creaking softly under their feet.

  
    “Yeah, it is,” Tobin says as she reaches the top of the stairs. She still hasn’t let go of Alex’s hand yet, “But it’s also very empty. It has been for a while, now.”

  
    The gears start turning quietly in Alex’s head, and her heart starts beating a little faster.

  
    “What do you mean?” She asks her. It’s a half-hearted question. She knows what Tobin means, knows all about warm places loosing their light.

  
    Tobin shrugs her shoulders and walks over to the big windows facing the backyard. They can see straight across the inlet from up there, over to the distant shore. Tall buildings stand proud and illuminated, a brilliant beacon amongst the dark grey clouds.

  
    “When my grandfather died, no one understood how he could leave me this house. I was one of the youngest in the family, and I was always traveling around due to soccer. I had absolutely no use for it. A lot of my family members got angry, and it caused a lot of fights, and I never understood why my grandfather would do something like that. Not until now,” She says, taking a deep breath.

  
    “I think he knew I’d be the one who would need something to fill, and I think he thought this house would be the best thing for it. My sisters and brother, they loved it here too, but not like I did. It wasn’t their home the same way it was mine, and my grandfather knew that. To the others, this was just a house, but to me…” She trails off uncertainly, searching for the right words, “For the longest time, it was the only place I ever wanted to be, and for the longest time I had no reason to be in it. It sucked, actually. And then I met Casey and thought I finally had a use for it, but that didn’t work out, and after that I wanted to give it to my sister, but that really didn’t work out, and then I tried to just sell it and be done with it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Tobin laughs again, keeps her eyes trained out the window, on the far off lights.

  
    “Tobin—” She cuts Alex off before she can say anything more.

  
    “Then, two years ago, I met you, and this wasn’t the only place I wanted to be anymore.”

  
    She’s looking right at her then when she says it, no longer focused on the window in any shape or form, and Alex quickly feels her cheeks heating up, feels something flutter around in the bottom of her stomach, because she doesn’t really know what to do or how to react when Tobin looks and speaks to her like this, with soft eyes and a gentle smile.

  
    “Tobin—” Again she just cuts her off, shakes her head and moves from the window, leading her around the upstairs, showing her parts of her life, parts of her world, really.  


  
    “I know this is a lot, Al, I really do, and I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, couldn’t think of another way to do it, I guess,” She says, and then stops outside a door—the only closed door in the house—and turns to face her.

  
    “Do what, Tobin?”

  
    Tobin takes a deep, steadying breath and lets it out slowly, nervously, and the flutters in Alex’s stomach intensify.

  
    “Did you know this place is only twenty minutes away from where the Western New York Flash trains?” She asks suddenly, completely off topic, and Alex gives her a disbelieving look and crosses her arms, examines her with a pointed brow.

  
    “That’s real nice, Tobin,” She says, allowing a rather blunt sarcasm into her tone. She’s rather exhausted at this point, though. All she wants to do it sleep, preferably with Tobin next to her, but the girl doesn’t seem to have plans to stop talking anytime soon, “What does that have to do with anything?”

  
    A bright light plays about within Tobin’s eyes, slight and hopeful.

  
    “The Western New York Flash have the first pick in the WPS draft this year,” Tobin says, and at this point Alex is starting to get rather irritated, because she doesn’t feel like talking about soccer right now, doesn’t feel like talking about anything, really.

  
    “And?” She can’t keep the impatience out of her voice anymore, but Tobin just smiles when she hears it, laughs softly.

  
    “And if they’re of sane mind, then that pick is going to be you, Lex.”

  
    For the longest while, Alex can’t say anything, because she thinks she finally understands what Tobin is getting at, and it’s more than she can really process at the moment.

  
    “That’s…you don’t know that, Tobin,” She says quickly, hurriedly, but Tobin just shakes her head and smiles softly at her, gently.

  
    “Yeah, striker,” She responds, suddenly without nervousness, her words and tone strong, “ I do.”

  
    She pulls another key out of her pocket, not red, but blue, and sticks it into the lock of the door and turns it without grander affair.

  
    The room she reveals is big and empty. Only four white walls and a giant window are on display, an unused and barren fireplace built into the wall. The window gives the same view across the inlet, shows off all the far off shine of buildings, and allows unobstructed beams of moonlight to sweep across the worn hardwood floors.

  
    Alex swallows heavily as she steps inside, nervously.

  
    “What is this?” She can’t seem to stop asking the question, no matter how many times Tobin gives her an answer.

  
    “Um,” Tobin steps in after her, just as nervous, and gestures wordlessly to the empty room, “This would be your room,” She tells her.

  
     _Your room._

  
    Alex feels an embarrassing amount of tears prod curiously at the corner of her eyes, and she pushes them away almost frantically, unwilling for Tobin to see, and walks deeper into the room, looks around it with wide blue eyes.

  
    “I know it’s not much right now, but we could paint the walls and we’d go and get you a bed and a bureau and, well, whatever you’d want, really.”

  
    Alex still doesn’t have any words, is still completely stuck on the your room part, because your room implies that she would live there, wouldn’t just be living with Tobin, but would be living with Tobin, in Tobin’s house—no, in their house.

  
    “You want me to live here,” Alex says slowly, carefully, keeping her eyes on everything but Tobin, which is a little hard when there’s nothing to look at in the room. She walks to the window to distract herself, and Tobin follows after her slowly.

  
    “Yeah,” Tobin says carefully, shifting beside her, “If you want to, that is,” There’s an increasing amount of uncertainty, of doubt.

  
    At first, Alex doesn’t know what to say. New Jersey is a long way away from California, which has been the only home she’s ever had.

  
    It’s not home anymore though. She knew this in Atlanta when she left Tobin behind and felt lost, knew it when she didn’t call Servando back, knew it when Tobin grabbed her by the jacket in the airport like she’d never let go and told her _I love you_.

  
    But the thought of actually leaving California, of leaving behind her family and friends, of leaving behind warm days and palm trees for the cold Atlantic and snowy winters—it hurts a little.

  
    Tobin’s hand is suddenly hot against hers, and her eyes are soft when she turns to her.

  
    Tobin’s always warm, she reminds herself, able to keep the both of them safe from the cold, and Tobin’s house—their house—will do the same if she comes.

  
    If she comes.

  
    “Why?” She asks Tobin suddenly, pulling back from her, reclaiming her hand, “Why do you want me here? And don’t say it’s because you love me.”

  
    The direct statement catches Tobin a little off guard. She pulls back and crosses her arms, examines her carefully, with narrowed eyes.

  
    “But _I do_ love you, Alex,” She returns, suddenly rather defensive, and Alex sighs and shakes her head and leans against the wall beside her.

  
    “You love a lot of things, and a lot of people,” Alex tells her quickly, before she loses her nerve, “But they don’t all live with you.”

  
    She doesn’t mean to offend Tobin, but it’s a statement that warrants offense and leaves Tobin reeling, maybe even a little hurt.  

  
    It’s the truth though, and it’s a fact that deserves to be said and discussed if Alex is going to chose Tobin in the way she wants.

  
    “Maybe I love you the most,” Tobin says hotly, with an angry fire, but Alex shakes her head and frowns and waves her off.

  
    “But why, Tobin? Why do you need me here?” She demands, and she thinks Tobin finally understands what she’s asking when the straightens and fixes her with a firm stare and a bright eye.

  
    “I’m going to tell you something,” Tobin says suddenly, and walks forwards, into Alex’s space, “And when I do, you can’t get mad, okay? Promise you’ll listen.”  
    Alex hesitates at first, but eventually nods, caution in her eyes.

  
    Tobin takes a deep, almost unwilling breath, as if to steel herself from some great unwanted truth.

  
    “When I went to Casey’s wedding, after we’d, you know, been together for the first time?” Tobin pauses for a moment, and Alex feels a quite dread overcome her. She suddenly doesn’t know if she wants to hear what Tobin has to say, but she nods her head anyways, squares her jaw uncertainly.

  
    “I…” Tobin trails hesitantly, suddenly won’t meet Alex’s eyes, “I wasn’t planning on coming back.”

  
    The words surprisingly do little damage to Alex. She expects it to knock her breath away, expects it to leave her stricken and tearful, but instead she just is.

  
    Perhaps a little part of her had known that day, and still knows now, that Tobin rarely means what she says.

  
    “I was the one who got the plane tickets, not her. And I actually got her to agree to go with me, too. She told her fiancé she wasn’t going to go through with it, packed all her bags,” Tobin cuts off for a moment to gauge Alex’s reaction carefully.

  
    Alex feels rather detached.

  
    “You were going to leave me?” She asks simply, without much feeling, and Tobin nods quickly, like if she moves fast enough Alex won’t see, “Why?”

  
    Tobin laughs breathlessly at the question, runs a tired hand through her hair.

  
    “Honestly, I don’t know Alex. I do stupid shit when I get scared, and after you and I, you know, did it, I…got scared.”

  
    It’s the dumbest thing Alex has ever heard. It’s no excuse, it’s no explanation, it’s Tobin doing whatever she wants with no regards to the consequences.

  
    But despite the fact that Alex has never felt such an anger, she still feels butterflies swarming in her stomach, still feels flutters in her chest that travel up into her throat and leave her silenced, because Tobin came back, and somehow that is enough.

  
    It shouldn’t be. But it is.

  
    “Why did you come back?”

  
    Tobin looks even more unwilling to answer that question, but she does eventually, with another settling breath and a pointed glance at her feet.

  
    “I’ve slept with a lot of people, Alex,” She starts off, and Alex rolls her eyes and turns away from her, rather annoyed, because what she really doesn’t want to hear about is Tobin’s various sexual conquests, but Tobin just walks up to her and grabs her elbow and tugs on her.

  
    “Listen please,” She says impatiently, and waits for the blue flash of Alex’s eyes before daring to continue, “I’ve slept with a lot of people. I never got anything out of it except good feelings and some stress relief,” She says, and Alex waits for her to get to whatever point she’s trying to make.

  
    “I woke up next to you and didn’t want to leave, Alex. That’s what scared me. That’s why I couldn’t leave. And that’s why I want you here now, with me,” She finally finishes, lets a long breath out.

  
    It’s not enough. It shouldn’t be enough, shouldn’t even be close to enough. And maybe Tobin feels that, because she quickly rushes to keep talking.

  
    “My life has been empty for a long time, Lex,” She says, and gestures around herself wordlessly, “As empty as this room, as empty as this house. I’ve been looking for something to fill it with forever, really. I thought I could fill it with Casey, but I can’t. It wasn’t right, she wasn’t right,” Tobin stops then, pauses for a soft moment, “You are. You’re right for me, Alex. I want to fill this house, fill my life with…you. If you’ll have me. If you’ll let me try.”

  
    It’s a lot of unloading. Alex is left rather speechless, a torrent of warring emotions in her chest. Tobin must understand that too, because she keeps going.

  
    “That being said,” She says, and then pauses, as if the next part pains her to say, “There’s no pressure. This is just an idea. You’re in control here, and I don’t expect a decision any time soon. You can think it over while we’re in Germany and you can tell me after the draft, after you’ve had enough time. And if you decide that this isn’t what you want, that’s fine. It won’t affect us, I’ll let HAO and Dave live in it with me, they’ve been having trouble finding a place, and you can get an apartment in New York, we’ll still be close to one another and we can go from there,” She says in one giant breath, and then it’s just the two of them looking at each other, bright brown staring into soft blue.  
    Tobin smiles gently at her then, with affection, with care.

  
    “Just think about it, okay?” She asks, and stretches out her hand to place the little blue key into Alex’s palm, “Cause I think you’d like it here, if you came, you know? I think you’d be happy,” Tobin tells her.

  
    Alex gives Tobin her first smile in a while, a tender one that plays about the corners of her lips.

  
    Of all the things she can’t see or understand or imagine about Tobin Heath, that one thing she can see, can understand, can imagine.

  
    She would like it here. She would be happy.

  
    “I think I would be too. If I came,” She says in response.

  
    Tobin’s smile turns into a brilliant, happy grin, and she steps closer to her, takes her wrist with gentle fingers and pulls her close enough for her lips to touch her own.  
    It’s an easy kiss, surprisingly light in comparison to the weight that Tobin has just shared with her.

  
    Alex likes it. It reminds her that things won’t always be so uncertain, so hard.

  
    They break apart after a short minute and Alex yawns, now thoroughly exhausted, and Tobin laughs at her sleepiness, pulls away and presses a quick kiss to her forehead before grabbing her hand and tugging her out of the empty room.

  
    “Let’s get some sleep,” She says cheerfully, “You can sleep in my room, I’ll be on the couch downstairs,” She says as she leads her across the hall and goes to unlock her own room, but Alex’s hand grabs at her wrist and she shakes her head once, hard.

  
    “Stay with me instead,” She says, and the soft light that enters Tobin’s eyes at her words is enough to let Alex know that she’s making the right decisions.

  
    “Okay,” Tobin tells her easily, without fuss.

  
    “I’ll stay with you.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Alex wakes up in Tobin’s room, in Tobin’s bed, with Tobin’s arms wrapped around her and her body pressed solidly against her own.

  
    The sunlight wakes her up, flooding in through the huge windows that Tobin had been too tired to pull the shades down over. The light wakes Alex up immediately, but Tobin’s sheltered in the crook of her neck, her eyes protected from the rays, so she continues to sleep soundly against her, undisturbed.

  
    It allows Alex an opportunity that she’s never had before, and she takes advantage of it, a cautious hand worming it’s way under the back of Tobin’s shirt to press softly against the skin there.

  
    It’s soft and smooth and hot to touch, everything that makes Tobin so inviting, and she trails careful fingers up and down the parts of her back that she can reach.

  
    Tobin shifts in her sleep in response, an incoherent hum making its way past her lips, and she tucks further into Alex’s neck, presses more of her warm body into her.

  
    Alex doesn’t get to hold Tobin very much. The girl always seems to be the one holding her, keeping her safe within the realm of her arms, and Alex loves it, but there’s something much more intimate about Tobin being vulnerable enough for her to take into her own arms, to accept that maybe she needs Alex just as much as Alex needs her.  


  
    Alex turns her head at the thought, presses her cheek against the top of Tobin’s sleeping head and stills when she stirs slightly, her body freezing until she relaxes back into sleep. The skin of Tobin’s forehead is just as soft against Alex’s lips as her back is against her hand, and smells faintly of salt and her day old vanilla perfume. Alex can’t help herself when she presses several kisses to the spot, can’t help the way her hand presses in a steady manner into her back when Tobin wiggles closer.

  
    “I love you,” She tells Tobin’s sleeping form, her voice hushed, as if even in sleep Tobin will somehow hear her, “More than anyone else,” She continues, and then closes her eyes, sighs deeply.

  
    “But I’m scared too, Tobin.”

  
    She waits for a reaction that doesn’t come. Tobin continues to breath deeply and fully, her chest pushed against Alex’s, her heart beating against hers.  


  
    It’s not even the beginning of an answer to the problem that their relationship has become. For now, though, it’s enough for them both to be scared and in love and safe in their big, empty house.

  
    As Tobin snuggles closer, Alex thinks she might be ready to fill it.

  
                        - - -

  
    They stick around the house mostly. Mrs. Lynne brings back groceries the very next day and stocks the house full of food. She gets the guest bedroom on the first floor ready as well, because “your grandfather taught you better than to let your guests sleep on the couch, Tobin Heath.”

  
    Alex takes pleasure in the scolding’s Tobin gets, finding them particularly amusing when Tobin has no rebuttal except to stammer uncertainly over her words in defense.  


  
    They also both under no circumstance reveal to the Lynnes that there is absolutely no need for a guest bedroom, and that Alex has been sleeping as far from the couch as a person can get.

  
    The days are vastly enjoyable. Tobin takes great joy in showing off her old stomping grounds, and they spend a lot of time just roaming around outside in the warm summer air. Tobin has a particular fondness for the beach that puts them on the sand more often than not, with Tobin taking them excitedly up and down the little coast she owns, like it’s somehow different every time they set their footprints down differently.

  
    Alex loves it. She loves the house, she loves the Lynnes, and she loves Tobin.

  
    The tiny blue key in her pocket doesn’t do anything but weigh her down, though, and it surprises her that something so small can be so heavy. Of course, after some thought it makes perfect sense, because it’s not just some key that unlocks some door, it’s Tobin’s key, and it unlocks Tobin’s door.  


  
    It’s the most valuable thing Alex has ever had in her possession, and she finds herself constantly checking her pockets when Tobin isn’t watching her, making sure that it somehow hasn’t gotten lost.

  
    It’s not the only worry in her life, not the only thing that’s stressing her out. All week she and Tobin have been getting texts and calls on who has and hasn’t made the roster. The official release is less than three days away, and Alex still hasn’t gotten her call. She’s not the only one, but there’s definitely no more than two spots left on the roster, and it makes her ridiculously nervous.

  
    At first Tobin puts up with her, but on the fourth day her patience grows a little thin.

  
    “Calm down already, Alex,” She says with a sigh as Alex checks her phone for the sixth time in five minutes, “You’re going to Germany. Just give them time to figure it all out, okay?”

  
    Alex shoots her a glare and crosses her arms and throws her phone down onto the couch in angered, anxious impatience.

  
    “Easy for you to say,” She mumbles, more to herself than anyone else, but Tobin hears her anyways, “You were basically Pia’s first pick. You hadn’t even gotten home yet when she called you,” Alex says rather sourly, and then she hears Tobin’s sigh from across the room , and then the couch dips under more weight as she comes to sit next to her.

  
    “Listen to me, striker,” Tobin says, crossing her legs and turning to face Alex with a cool, collected calm. At first Alex doesn’t give her the attention she wants, not until Tobin reaches out and grabs at her hands, “You had an incredible camp. You did nothing but score goals and make great passes and connect brilliantly with Abby, okay? You’re going to Germany. Pia would be crazy not to take you,” Tobin says, and while at first it settles Alex a little, it quickly reignites her uncertainty, because Pia actually kind of _is_ a little crazy.

  
    Alex shakes her head and shifts backwards, leans her head against the edge of the couch and closes her eyes.

  
    “I just—” She starts and stops, fiercely trying to collect her thoughts, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t make this roster. I don’t know what I’ll be.”

  
    Her words are a lot sadder than she intended, and she hears Tobin’s quiet, soft intake of breath at her confession. She still has her eyes closed, still has her head pressed firmly into the couch, but she feels the softness of Tobin’s hands when she reaches out and collects her and pulls her into the safety of her lap.

  
    It’s all she wants, she realizes. Tobin and Germany, ideally both of them together, and the thought of not being able to have either makes her a little sick.

  
    She’s also terrified of Tobin going off alone and leaving her in this empty house, because Tobin does what Tobin wants when Alex isn’t with her, and sometimes even when Alex is with her, and the distance and excitement of the World Cup just doesn’t inspire a lot of faith in Alex.

  
    “You’ll still be Alex,” Tobin tells her, voice rumbling in her chest in a way that Alex can feel against her back, steady and soothing and strong, “You’ll still be one of the best forwards in America. You’ll still be going first pick to Western New York Flash,” Tobin falters for a moment, a note of hesitancy overtaking her. Alex can feel it in the way her chest tightens slightly around her, in the way the muscles in her arms contract, “I’ll still want you.”

  
    She ends her words with a kiss, her lips warm against her cheek, and Alex leans into her involuntarily, draws the tip of her nose down her neck in a line until she finds the beating pulse of her neck and presses her mouth to it briefly.

  
    It’s enough to inspire a look of hunger in Tobin, enough for her words to have meaning applicable to their current situation, because suddenly Tobin’s hands are a lot more insistent and a lot more wandering as she lays Alex out on the couch, kisses strong and without the intent of stopping.

  
    She’s got her hands up her shirt, her teeth against the junction of her neck and shoulder when the Lynnes stroll into the house, and Tobin more or less propels herself away from Alex and to the other side of the room in a manner so fast Alex barely realizes she isn’t there.

  
    The Lynnes are thankfully oblivious to Alex’s pushed up shirt—which she hastens to straighten—and panting breath, but what doesn’t escape the notice of Mrs. Lynne is the bright pink tinge of Tobin’s face.

  
    “Are you alright, dear?” She asks, approaching the girl and pressing her hand to her forehead, despite Tobin’s protests, “You look sick. Your whole face is red. Maybe you should go and lie down for a bit,” She says, and Alex can barely contain her laughter as Tobin reddens even more and stammers out something about the heat, to which Mrs. Lynne proceeds to throw opens all of the windows and makes Tobin drink a glass of water under a watchful eye.

  
    Eventually Tobin satisfies her worrying, and both Lynnes head outside. “It’s a gardening kind of day,” Mr. Lynne tells her with a wink, and then once they are safe behind closed doors once more Alex lets her laughter out in the form of soft, uncontrollable giggles.

  
    Tobin fights back her own smirk and shakiness until Alex starts pointing at her, body heaving with her amusement.

  
    “Oh my god,” Alex gasps through her cheer, “I didn’t know your face could get that red,” She more or less wheezes, and then Tobin’s smile drops and she growls playfully and launches herself back onto the couch before crawling her way back up Alex’s body.

  
    Her eyes are hungry again, black in the low kitchen lighting, and she smiles down wolfishly at her, devils playing about the dark depths of her pupils. When she leans down, Alex expects a kiss, but instead she bites her, nips playfully at her chin, her teeth scraping lightly against the skin there and holding it for a moment, reddening it.

  
    “I’ll still want you,” Tobin repeats, but now her voice is smooth like honey, and drips with want. Her lips hunt down from her chin to her jugular, and suck there until Alex pushes up into her and a small noise escapes her throat.

  
    Tobin pulls away from her for a moment, a real smile gracing her features despite Alex’s immediate glare of protest, her hand reaching or Tobin’s face to demand it return to her.

  
    “And we’ll have to invest in like, so many locks,” Tobin breathes out, her mouth moving back to kiss across the line of her jaw, her hands finding their way back up under Alex’s shirt and discovering that she has yet to put on a bra.

  
    Alex gasps as Tobin grabs her, and pushes her chest up against her palms obediently, unintelligible words on her lips.

  
    “So many,” She rasps out, her breath already starting to come fast, and she’s pretty sure Tobin can feel the pounding of her heart through her hand.

  
    Tobin smiles and pulls one of her hands back out to grab Alex’s chin and push it up and back, giving her access to her throat.

  
    “So many.”

  
                        - - -

  
    Kelley doesn’t make the roster. Neither does Sydney.

  
    It strikes a blow to Alex’s confidence, because Kelley has more experience and Sydney is a lot stronger than her, and if they haven’t made it, how will she?

  
    It doesn’t phase Tobin though. She spends a long time trying to console Kelley over the phone, about as much time as Alex spends talking to Sydney, and when they come back together after a few hours Tobin just greets her with a soft kiss and a warm smile.

  
    “You’re going to Germany, Lex. Don’t worry.”

  
    Alex worries anyways, but in the end, Tobin turns out to be right. She gets the call the next day, from a very happy Pia, and Alex can barely contain her excitement.

  
    Tobin whoops and tackles her and showers her with kisses, and then sits dutifully by her side as she phones all of her family and friends to share the good news, and pretends not to notice when she calls her dad and starts crying, just rubs her back and keeps reading her book.

  
    When she’s done she tosses her phone and leans heavily into Tobin, tucking her face away into the crevice of her neck and resting for a moment. Tobin lets her, leaning her own head into hers slightly and humming in soft contentment.

  
    “You were right,” Alex tells her after a brief, sweet moment, and she feels Tobin’s face contract as she smiles.

  
    “I usually am, Lex,” She tells her gently, a soft teasing in her voice, and Alex sits up and smirks at her and pushes her shoulder with a roll of her eyes.

  
    Tobin smiles back at her, reaches out and laces their fingers together.

  
    “You and me,” She reminds her, with the gentlest of affections, and Alex melts into her warmth and goodness and support.

  
    “You and me,” Alex repeats back to her.

  
                        - - -

  
    That night she ends up in Tobin’s bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet, the little blue key resting in the palm of her hand.

  
    It’s getting heavier to hold onto, has started burning a hole in the pocket of her jeans, where she keeps it and pulls out from time to time, to run her fingers over the smooth ridges.

  
    It’s starting to look less threatening, less like Tobin’s key and more like her key, and it’s a scary thought for Alex, one not made better by _you and me_ , and _both of us together in Germany_.

  
    Something heavy crashes into the bathroom door and jolts Alex from her stupor, knocks the key from her hand and sends it down, clattering violently onto the hard, unforgiving tile of the floor.

  
    “Al?” Tobin’s tired voice calls from her bedroom, “You didn’t fall in right? You don’t need me to come save you from the toilet?”

  
    It shouldn’t be so hard to pick the key up from the floor, but for some reason it is, like it doesn’t wasn’t to go back into her hand, like it doesn’t fit right anymore.

  
    She snatches it up in the end though, shoves it deep down into her pocket where she can forget about it.

  
    Another object strikes the door.

  
    “Seriously Lex, what are you doing in there?”

  
    “Coming!”

  
    Alex fixes her hair quickly, straightens her shirt and heads back out the door.

  
    She shuts it harder than intended, and it shakes on it’s frame, and for a moment Alex is scared she’s broken it beyond repair.

  
    It steadies after a moment though, stops it’s quivering, and Alex curls up next to Tobin, who throws a warm arm around her, and forgets that it even happens in the first place.

  
                        - - -

  
    Tobin prods her awake, and Alex opens her eyes to see an emptying plane. She yawns widely, blinks up at Tobin with sleepy eyes, who just smiles down at her with a bizarre fondness that Alex still doesn’t understand.

  
    She opens her mouth to say something but doesn’t get the words out, because Kelley O’Hara—added to the roster after Lindsey Tarpley tore her ACL— suddenly tackles her from behind, grabs onto her shoulders and shakes her into awareness.

  
    “We’re here Alex! There’s no time to sleep.”

  
    Alex smiles and pushes her off with a roll of her eyes, reaches up and grabs her bag before turning back to Tobin, unable to keep her smile from transforming into a grin.

  
    “We’re here.”

                     - - -

     On the very first day of the world cup, Alex gets a text message from a number she doesn't know.

 

      _Unknown Number: We need to meet._


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never listens (part two).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out the world cup is going to be a three parter. 
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me. Sorry it takes so long but I'm a busy bee.
> 
> As always, Enjoy.

_    Delivered at 12:30 am: Who are you? _

 

   The screen of Alex’s phone is unintentionally bright, and it lights up the black walls of the hotel room before she can stop it.

 

   Tobin stirs immediately from her place on top of her, whining loudly as the light rouses her, and she rolls off and onto the opposite side of the bed before Alex can lock the screen, laying on her stomach and burying her head into one of the pillows.

 

   Alex lets her go, points her phone down so the light will recede and then reaches out a cautious hand to place on the gentle rising and falling of Tobin’s back.  

 

   As always, her skin is burning hot, the heat of her welcomes her cold hand, and she contracts her fingers softly around her shoulder blade, scratches lightly against her black shirt curiously.

 

   “I don’t wanna, Cheney,” Tobin breathes out into the pillow, and it’s enough to assure Alex that the midfielder will stay down.

 

_  Unknown Number: Someone you need to talk to. _

 

   Alex sighs softly, more mindful of Tobin’s presence this time as she reads the message.

 

   She’s been having the same conversation with this person for a week now. As Alex scrolls back through previous messages, she understands that it never deviates. It’s the same thing every time.

 

_ We need to meet. _

 

_    Who are you? _

 

_    Someone you need to talk too. _

 

_    About what? _

 

_    You know what. _

 

   It goes on and on, endlessly, and Alex is getting tired of it. She should have turned her phone off last week along with everyone else.

 

_    Delivered at 12:45 am: About what? _

 

   She types the message out wearily, and then clicks off her phone and tucks it against her chest to wait for the usual message to return. A car turns on in the parking lot below, and the soft light flutters in through the shades and paints patterns onto the ceiling.

 

   Her phone lights up again and Alex opens it, prepared to read the same message once more.

 

   It’s different.

 

_ Unknown Number: Tobin _

 

   Alex’s eyes flash to the girl’s sleeping frame, to her long messy hair and steady falling breaths, and it grows a little harder to swallow as the text puts a lump in her throat.

 

   Up until then, Alex had been wondering if it was just some prank, just some random bored person that needed someone to talk with.

 

   The fact that they know of Tobin—and that Alex is connected to her—means not only that they are very real, but very close at hand.

 

   Alex’s brow furrows.

 

_ Delivered at 12:50 am: WHO ARE YOU? _

 

   The phone screen doesn’t light up again, and after fifteen minutes of complete darkness Tobin rolls back over to her and cuddles into her side, breathes in deeply as she tucks her nose into the collar of her shirt.

 

   The contact soothes most of Alex’s worries, relaxes the stuttering of her heart.

 

   She sleeps restlessly anyways.

 

\- - -

 

   The first game against Korea hits Alex hard.

 

   She and Tobin are both on the bench, as much a spectator as anyone else in the stadium, and it’s a little difficult to swallow when Alex has been doing nothing short of killing herself every chance she gets. If Pia has drawn a line of expectation ten feet over her head, then Alex has drawn one that is twenty.

 

   It’s a dangerous game she’s playing with herself. Abby reprimands her firmly for it the first practice they have once they’ve touched down in Dresden, when her tackles start becoming less skilled tact and more unpredictable motion, and her touches are either too short or too long.

 

   “I know it’s scary, Alex, but if you can’t keep your head on straight you’re not going to be any help to us,” Abby tells her, after her fourth shot has gone wide and she’s dragged Rachel onto the ground.

 

   Alex shrugs her shoulders, smiles tightly, pretends like the words don’t sting her as she fixes her headband.

 

   “I don’t get scared,” She responds, as cocky as she’s ever been, and she pretends she doesn’t see Abby roll her eyes and sends another missed shot Hope’s way.

 

   At night, when Tobin pulls her onto her with fatigued arms and weary eyes, she wraps herself up in her until she feels safe again.

 

   “I’m scared, Tobin,” She whispers into the skin of the midfielder’s neck.

 

   Tobin just hums sleepily, already half gone, and rubs soft circles into her back, presses quick kisses to the side of her head.

 

   “We all are, Lex.”

 

   It certainly doesn’t seem like it.

 

   The team looks different, stronger somehow, as they take the field in the strong whites of their away jerseys. They look focused, un-intimidated, eleven bricks walls and loose cannons ready to destroy whatever gets in their way.

 

   Which is why it is so startling when they can’t find the back of the net.

 

   The speed of play on its own is enough to leave Alex breathless. It’s similar to practice, but also different. Every motion is now frantic, driven, and aggressive. No one hangs onto the ball for more than five seconds at a time, and it bounces around violently, looking more like a pinball game than a soccer match.

 

   Worst of all is the physicality. Korea brings down the hammer on them. The instant one of them dares to touch the ball they’re being closed down from all sides. All tackles are cleats up, heavily jarring, and potentially career ending in the way the players scramble to avoid them.

 

   Tobin, usually so calm and collected, is a live wire beside her. Alex tries to talk to her, but Tobin makes no move to let her know that she has been heard. Her eyes are only for the field, only for the ball. Her hands, curled up at her sides, tremble.

 

   Alex stops trying after a while, sits silently and watches with just as much focus as the team struggles on without them.

 

   The half comes and they all pile into the locker rooms with little enthusiasm. Tobin squishes herself between Lauren and Amy, both who have yet to catch their breaths, and tries not to look too dejected at being left behind.

 

   Lauren wipes her sweat off on Tobin’s jersey, shoots her a sly smile when she complains and tugs at her ponytail.

 

   “She’s going to put you in to help us,” Amy’s voice is a soft whisper intended for no one but Tobin, “So stop worrying so much.”

 

   Tobin relaxes immediately into the girl’s embrace and the girl’s words and gives them a soft, tentative smile.

 

   It’s only then that Alex realizes Tobin is right.

 

   They are all scared.

 

   Pia yells, because it’s been a scoreless forty-five minutes, because the team is sulking and playing like they’re half asleep, because it’s the first game and it’s only going to get harder.

 

   They all listen, many with hanging heads, most with heavy hearts.

 

   And then they go back on the field without any substitutions, and Tobin and Alex go back to the bench.

 

   This time, though, Tobin takes her hand subtly, squeezes the tops of her fingers when her breath starts to come too fast.

 

   When Lauren puts away a gorgeous header in the 54’ minute, she still doesn’t let go, not until Lauren comes barreling over to the bench and crashes into them, filled with joy and celebration, and once it’s over her hand is right back on hers, her eyes on her face and a soft smile on her lips.

 

   “That’s going to be you,” Tobin tells her matter-of-factly, ignoring the roll of her eyes, “I’m not kidding, Al. She’s putting you in.”

 

   Alex doesn’t know how Tobin knows this, but ten minutes later Pia has pulled her up from the bench and has pushed her over to the sideline.

 

   Alex isn’t sure what to do. She stands stock still by the midline until she catches Tobin smiling at her, and then jumps up and down a few times to get her nerves out and her blood circulating and her mind off of all things Tobin Heath.

 

   She’s barely in for five minutes when Rachel somehow manages to get a toe on the ball, and it rockets into the net and seals up the game for them. It’s extraordinarily exciting to celebrate on the field with the team, to be a part of the congratulations, but it’s over as soon as is begins and then Alex is all alone on the far right corner.

 

   The game gets away from her a little. The few times she gets a touch on the ball she’s stripped, and they knock her around like she’s a rag doll. She manages a few good passes, but nothing more, and then the whistle blows and the game is called and that’s it.

 

   It’s over.

 

   They collect their three points and get back on the bus like nothing’s happened, like they didn’t just struggle for ninety minutes against a team they were supposed to roll over. Tobin’s quiet in her seat next to her, thoughtful but thankfully not distant.

 

   She lets Alex lean on her shoulder and pretend to sleep the entire ride back to the hotel, and shushes Kelley when she so much as dares to try and wake her.

 

   It’s good and quiet and calm.

 

   Safe, in the best of ways.

 

\- - -

 

   Alex gets ordered to stay behind at the hotel and recover. She watches rather forlornly as Tobin packs up her practice bag, pulls her cleat out from under the bed and throws her hair up messily.

 

   Tobin laughs when she sees her face, kisses her cheek and then blows air onto it to make it cold. Alex shudders against her and then whines when Tobin pulls away, curls her fingers into her shirt.

 

   “Jeez Alex, you’d think you were the one who had to go off to practice all alone, the way you’re acting,” She teases her, gently pulling her hands away.

 

   Alex pouts up at her, is about to tell her that she won’t be alone, because Kelley will be there, along with the eleven other players that didn’t get a chance to touch the ball yesterday.

 

   She stops herself though, because by now she has come to know that alone means two very different things to the both of them.

 

   “Just hurry back, okay?” She asks her, and the smile that lights up Tobin’s face is enough to let her know that she’s done the right thing.

 

   She tugs on Tobin’s shirt again and Tobin lets her, until her lips are within striking distance.

 

   It’s a soft and unrushed kiss, but deliberate in the way Tobin bends her lips to fit her own.

 

   They’re interrupted when Kelley slams the door open—Tobin had forgotten to shut it properly when they had come back from breakfast—and then she and the other two new kids trickle into their room like they belong there.

 

   “Nope, nope, nope!” Kelley repeats, grabbing Tobin by the arm and forcibly separating the two of them, “Sorry Tobs. As much as we’d all love to sit around and make out with Alex, we have to go or we’re going to miss the bus,” Kelley states brazenly, and then neatly dodges the smack Tobin sends her way as she straightens and grabs her bag with a huff.    

   “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tobin tells her half heartedly, and once she shoulders her bag, moves to kiss Alex just once more.

 

   Amy gets in her way, wraps Alex up in her arms and pulls her back.

 

   “You go on, Tobin,” She tells the midfielder with smiling eyes, “We’ve totally got this under control,” She says, and Lauren laughs from her side and nods, leans over Alex to smirk up at Tobin.

 

   “Yeah, we’ll take good care of her, don’t worry,” Lauren chuckles, but before Tobin can get more than an angry flash of her eyes out, Kelley pulls her from the room.

 

   Amy lets her go and flops down onto the bed, and Lauren joins her yawning before pointing to her suitcase.

 

   “Get your swim stuff, we’re going to the pool.”

 

\- - -

   Alex has never had to recover before. The games she has capped in have always been a one day affair. This is different, nice, relaxing.

 

   It’s the veterans that take it the most seriously, the ones who know they’ll be playing again soon. They dig their heels in and listen to every instruction given their way so that they can be back in top form for the next match.

 

   Alex sticks close to Amy and Lauren, and their pool session involves a lot less rigor and a lot more splashing and chatting. There’s less emphasis and stress on their own recovery, as it’s almost guaranteed they’ll have longer gaps in-between their matches. They get the necessity of the workout out of the way pretty quickly, and then just float around on their backs when the trainers leave them alone, enjoying the sudden respite.

 

   Alex is a little nervous at first, because she’s never been with the two of them alone before. Tobin has always been a subtle buffer, keeping her comfortable and engaged with minimal effort. She already has a close relationship with Lauren, but she’s never interacted much with Amy off the soccer field, and she’s unsure of how Lauren changes when she’s in the company of her best friend.

 

   With Tobin’s absence comes slight apprehension, not because she dislikes either of them, but simply because she needs them to not dislike her.

 

   They’re Tobin’s best friends, enough said.

 

   Thankfully, that means they’re about as easily entertained as the midfielder, and just as easy to talk too.

 

   They’ve been floating around the pool for a while when Amy pops up next to her with a yawn and a smile.

 

   “So?” Amy questions her, a brightness in her eyes as she treads water next to her, “How was it?”

 

   At first Alex doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but then Lauren drifts over when she sees them congregating and floats by her other side.

 

   “Yeah, your first big tournament game is always awesome,” Lauren chimes in, and Alex turns and smiles, “I mean, you have no freaking clue what you should be doing, but at least you’re out on the field,” Lauren continues, and Alex’s smile grows wider.

 

   “Yeah,” She laughs, “That sounds exactly right,” She acknowledges.

 

   “You did super well, Alex,” Lauren tells her, blue eyes soft, “You should have seen Arod in her first game during the Olympics. She almost ran into the goal post,” Lauren says, giggling, and Amy huffs and splashes water into her face, unamused.

 

   “Almost being the key word there, Chen,”  She says sourly, but brightens considerably when Alex laughs, “And I think I remember a certain someone who had only been on the field for two hot seconds before she tripped over herself and fell flat on her face,” Amy says smugly, but Lauren just rolls her eyes and kicks out her legs through the water in a lazy manner.

 

   “Hey, if it’s not on video, it never happened,” Lauren responds coolly, and Amy rolls her eyes, “Anyways, you’re ahead of us both, Alex. You managed to stay on your feet and not make it look totally ridiculous,” She says with a grin.

 

   It’s not exactly a compliment, but it warms Alex just the same.

 

   “Yeah, Tobs said you were super nervous but it didn’t show at all,” Amy says, and Alex misses the sharp glare Lauren throws Amy’s way as her brows furrow curiously.

 

   “Tobin talks about me?”

 

   Amy ignores Lauren’s glare and settles back into the water before nodding at Alex, her eyes growing big.

 

   “I don’t know how you haven’t noticed yet, but Tobin’s vocabulary consists of two words. ‘Dude’ and ‘Alex,’ and I never thought I’d see the day where anything would surpass ‘dude’ but it’s finally come,” She says, chuckling.

 

   Alex takes a moment to process, and Lauren shoots more reprimanding looks Amy’s way, to which Amy simply shrugs her shoulders.  

 

   “Do you guys know about—”

 

   “The house?” Amy cuts her off eagerly, suddenly ram rod straight, “Oh, I was _ so _ hoping you would bring it up,” She chatters excitedly.

 

   Lauren cuts her off abruptly.

 

   “Amy,” There’s a warning in her voice, a fierce one, “It’s absolutely none of your business.

 

   Amy pouts at her, crosses her arms and glares back.

 

   “Just because Tobin won’t talk about it doesn’t mean that—” Lauren cuts her off again, just as firmly.

 

   “Yes, yes it does mean that. Drop it,” She says flatly, and Amy pouts in an even more pronounced manner but finally nods her head in agreement.

 

   Except, well, Alex does kind of want to talk about it.

 

   “No, no it’s okay,” She says suddenly, calling the attention of the other two back to her, and instantly Amy is back at her side and Lauren is looking on a lot less defensively.

 

   “I still can’t believe she took you there,” Amy gushes immediately, “She doesn’t take anyone there. Lauren and I didn’t even know it existed until what, two years ago?” Amy asks, her eyes flickering over to Lauren.

 

   “Three,” The curly haired midfielder nods, blue eyes sharp against the darkness of the water, “And that was only because she couldn’t figured out how to file a tax reclaim the year Mr. Lynne got sick.”

 

   “So you guys have seen it?” Alex asks then, and Lauren has barely nodded her head when Amy bursts out laughing.

 

   “Seen it? I’d say. We lived in it for what, a year and a half, was it Cheney?”

 

   Lauren hums for a moment, shrugs her shoulder softly.

 

   “Two,” She says simply, and Amy’s head nods, “But I wouldn’t exactly say lived. More like visited,” She says, and Amy sighs and rolls her eyes before turning back to Alex.

 

   “It’s beautiful, right?” The blonde asks, her hair dark brown from the wetness of the water, “What room did Tobin give you? She told us her plan, of course, but when I told her that she better not touch my room she got all quiet,” Amy says.

 

   “The one upstairs, right across the hall from her own,” Alex laughs.

 

   She doesn’t expect the two to quiet down the way they do, for them to exchange glances that involve wide eyes and closed mouths. It catches Alex a little off guard, heightens the situation to points of discomfort.

 

   Amy speaks first, uncertainly.

 

   “The one that locks? With the fireplace?” Her eyes are like saucers.

 

   Alex nods once, suddenly unsure. She looks to Lauren quickly, but the girl gives nothing away.

 

   “Yeah. Why?” She asks them cautiously, like she wouldn’t want to know.

 

   Amy whistles appreciatively.

 

   “Wow. I didn’t think she’d ever unlock that door,” Amy says, and Lauren starts glaring daggers at her again, starts shaking her head.

 

   “Why not?” Alex demands, suddenly curious, her eyes narrowed.

 

   “We didn’t even know it was a room, in all the time we stayed there. Not until the end. It was always locked,” Amy continues, talking more to Lauren then to Alex, but Alex pushes closer, commanding her attention, and by extension, her answers.

 

   “Arod,” Her voice is short and to the point, “tell me.”

 

   Amy looks at Lauren, who just stares at her blankly, and then hums thoughtfully and turns back to Alex.

 

   “Uh, it was her grandfather’s room. You know, before he passed.”

 

   There’s a moment of silence among the three of them, a soft, undisturbed quiet, until Alex raises her head slowly.

 

   “What’s the deal with him anyways? With that house?” She asks, and Amy takes a deep breath to answer, but suddenly Lauren is right in front of them with harder eyes.

 

   “We really shouldn’t tell you if Tobin hasn’t—” Lauren starts, but Amy cuts her off just as quickly with a roll of her eyes. They’ve made their way over to the edge of the pool, and Amy hops up to sit on the concrete edge.

 

   “Oh please Cheney. If Alex is going to be living there she deserves to know. And Tobin is as closed off as it gets when it comes to talking about  _ that _ .”

 

   Lauren shakes her head, and stray water droplets clinging to the ends scatter from her.

 

   “We shouldn’t,” She reaffirms.

 

   “Fine,” Amy says shortly, “Go swim a lap if you don’t want to be apart of this. I’m still telling her.”

 

   Lauren glares, but otherwise goes silent beside them.

 

   Amy clears her throat and thinks for a moment, as if uncertain where she should start.

 

   “Let’s just say for the sake of keeping this brief, that Tobin has always had some, uh—”

 

   “Family issues,” Lauren chimes in, and Amy nods her head and points in confirmation at the midfielders words.

 

   “Yeah. Family issues. Not like, with her immediate family. They’re great. It’s the others that aren’t. Her grandfather always kept everyone in check though, until he started getting sick. That’s when things fell apart. He got—what did he get, Cheney?”

 

   “He got old, Arod,” Lauren says simply, eyes downcast.

 

   “Yeah, that. Pretty rapid decline though. Tobin was on the other side of the country when he died. Came home to a new house and an enraged family. There was a lot of legal issues and things, a lot of taking sides, and most of them were against her. That wasn’t the bad part though. She really loved her grandfather. He’d always taken care of her and had supported her pursuing soccer. And I mean, I guess he’s still taking care of her, what with that house and all. But the family didn’t like that display of favoritism. A lot of them still won’t even talk to Tobin,” Amy stops for a moment, shrugs her shoulders softly, “That’s all there really is too it, I guess,” She says.

 

   “The point of it all is that we’re just surprised,” Lauren says after a moment, when Alex turns to her, “Tobin’s kept that house and that room boarded up pretty tight. We didn’t think she’d ever let anyone back in,” She says, and Amy nods in affirmation.

 

   “She really likes you, Alex,” Amy says to her, and Alex has to hold her tongue to keep from correcting her, to keep from saying  _ actually, she loves me _ .

 

   Lauren gives her a knowing look, a knowing smile.

 

   “You’re good for her. You make her better,” Lauren says simply.

 

   Amy and Lauren both smile at her then, wide and genuine, and for a moment Alex doesn’t know what to do, or how to feel.

 

   The happiness that spreads through her chest at their words decides for her.

 

   It doesn’t just feel like they’re giving her their stamp of approval.

 

   It feels like they’re friends.

 

   “And you’re waaaay better than Casey,” Amy says with a nod, and Lauren scoffs and yanks her by the leg back into the water, forcing her head under as Alex reddens slightly.

 

   “What was that for!? You ruined my hair,” Amy snaps angrily as she comes back up, sputtering.

 

   “Stop sharing every thought that pops into your head,” Lauren chides, rolling her eyes.

 

   “Hey, I’m just being honest,” Amy retorts immediately, shoving at the taller girl's arm, splashing her.

 

   “Well your blatant honesty makes everyone uncomfortable,” Lauren says, splashing her back, and suddenly an all out war is at hand.

 

   “Alex is on my side,” Amy declares immediately.

 

   Lauren gives her a quick look, a small smirk.

 

   Before she can say anything else, they both dunk Amy under the water.

 

\- - -

 

   Tobin gets back just in time for dinner, and is absolutely exhausted.

 

   She and Kelley trudge in unusually quiet, their shoulders hunched with fatigue, and Alex wilts a little bit, because Tobin looks more tired and frustrated than ever, and things rarely go right when she’s in such a state.

 

   Her head snaps up though, and her warm brown eyes find hers, and there’s nothing but bright lights in their depths as a smile breaks through her weary features.

 

   She doesn’t take her usual seat across from her, she scampers right around the table into the empty chair beside her and pushes it close to her, flops down and takes her hand in hers while Kelley sits down across from them.

 

   “Aw,” Amy coos from beside them, “Did someone get a little lonely, being gone so long?”

 

   Tobin flashes her a glare, but otherwise says nothing, just keeps her eyes on Alex, only breaking from her to shovel food into her mouth.

 

   Alex isn’t keen to admit it, but there’s something about the way she holds onto her that makes her feel important.

 

   Amy wrinkles her nose from beside them.

 

   “Seriously Tobin could you stop being so clingy for one second? I’m trying to eat over here,” She says, a playful tone in her voice as Tobin’s mouth drops open in offense.

 

   She looks so tired though, so Alex soothes her fingers over hers and gives her a break.

 

   “Oh, leave her alone,” She reprimands them, before Lauren can beat her to it, and the second the words leave her Tobin shuts her mouth and looks at her with the biggest, warmest, brownest eyes, and her hand becomes that much more welcoming against her own.

 

   Kelley makes a gagging sound from across the table, and then tries to kick Tobin but ends up hitting Amy instead, and the resulting war is chaotic and only broken up when Lauren dares to grab the last roll on the table.

 

   It’s the most perfect that Alex has felt in a while, sitting there with Tobin, and the people who have fast become her friends. She and Tobin look on as the three quickly mangle the piece of bread, but Alex quickly becomes distracted when the intensity of Tobin’s gaze turns to her.

 

   It’s something she still hasn’t gotten used too—and she probably never will, if she’s being honest. Tobin looks at her and she melts, every time, regardless of circumstance.

 

   It’s a little annoying sometimes, but mostly it just leaves the center of her chest feeling that much more full.

 

   Tobin dares to rest her head on her shoulder, dares to let her pink lips open up in a yawn as she closes her eyes and snuggles into her neck.

 

   It’s a little too intimate for a team dinner, but when Alex looks around she finds everyone to be pleasantly distracted, so she lets it slide this once.

 

   “ _ Hey _ ,” Tobin husks out, her voice a soft whisper against the underside of her ear, “I missed you today.”

 

   Tobin doesn’t seem to be looking for a response, and Alex doesn’t want to ruin this moment by saying the wrong words, so she just strokes her fingers over the soft ridges of Tobin’s knuckles and rests easy for a little while against her, the both of them content to watch the fight in front of them come to a head.

 

   “You already had two!” Amy accuses Lauren and Kelley, despite the fact that she’s already eaten three, “This one is mine.”

 

   And it shouldn’t all suddenly make sense to Alex. It shouldn’t suddenly feel right, and whole, and warm, but it just does. And they don’t even have to be in Germany, they could be anywhere at this point, so long as they’re together, and Alex would still feel the same.

 

_ Hey, I love you. _

 

   She’s turning to tell Tobin just that when her phone buzzes to life in her lap.

 

_ Unknown Number: We need to meet. _

 

   She locks the screen and keeps her silence.

 

\- - -

 

   Colombia is easier, which is surprising, because Tobin isn’t next to her for most of it.

 

   They both sit the bench for the first half, and while Tobin is nowhere near as fired up as she was for North Korea, there’s still a fierce, yearning hunger that plagues the language of her body and the nature of her eyes as she stares out onto the pitch.

 

   Lauren and Amy both start—without her—once again and that lends something to her unrest as well.

 

   Mostly though, she just sits beside her, occasionally making witty, stupid comments, ones that shouldn’t make Alex smile but somehow do.

 

   She’s trying to keep her cool this time, trying not to let it show how badly she wants to be out there on the field. She’s a good pretender for the most part, but Alex has learned to see right through her, and she thinks that maybe Pia has too, because when they come back from the half and Tobin can barely keep herself seated, Pia’s eyes travel down the bench and land on her squarely, and Alex knows immediately that Tobin will be going in.

 

   At first this panics her, because Tobin will be leaving her behind, going in as their third and final sub, and Alex doesn’t think she can watch the game alone without down spiraling into her own dangerous thoughts and inadequacies.

 

   One look at Tobin’s nervous, hopeful, bright-eyed face changes all of that. Tobin needs this more than Alex needs her by her side. Pia calls her name and Tobin shoots up without a second thought, and Alex lets go of her immediately, without pause.

 

   The entire game changes, not monumentally from an outsider's perspective, just from Alex’s, as Tobin wakes up in a dramatic fashion, one that Alex has never before seen.

 

   In all the time Alex has known her, she’s often wondered about this girl who seemingly belongs nowhere and to no one. Watching her play changes that.

 

   Tobin belongs with the national team.

 

   Her fresh legs and abundant energy wakes the team up and gives them the necessary boost to remain strong and dominant in the remaining half hour of the game. She takes control of the midfield in such a way as to allow rest to the starters, willingly allowing her own strength to drain in order to help them hold up their lead, their win.

 

   All of her nervousness fades to strong, commanding touches and neat passes and soft strategy in the way she moves the ball up and down the field. It’s a different game she’s playing in that moment—they’re up by three and don’t need a goal, they just need to hang tight and shut Colombia out and preserve as much of their energy as possible.

 

   Tobin works so that the team can rest, wasting away the minutes that stand between them and their advancement, a kind of fearless passion controlling her movements. Gone is the uncertainty, the unrest. Tobin glows with purpose, with happiness, with a zeal and a bold, bright life.

 

   It’s captivating, and it’s meaningful, and it’s who she is, it’s to what Tobin Heath belongs.

 

   The ball comes rocketing out of bounds towards the bench in the 87th minute, and it’s Tobin who gallops over to scoop it up and throw it back into play.

 

   She meets Alex’s gaze just long enough to give her a soft smile, a playful wink, before she turns back to the game and immerses herself once more.

 

   It’s not a long moment, but it’s enough for Alex to finally understand.

 

   Tobin belongs to soccer. She belongs to the team.

 

    And maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to belong to Alex too.

 

\- - -

 

   Tobin’s practically insatiable in the following days after the match. They get back from the game and Alex expects Tobin to crash, but she’s more awake than ever, and once they managed to shake off Amy and Lauren and Kelley, is very insistent on proving just how awesome her being buzzed up from the game can be.

 

   She’s very attentive, to say the least. Alex has barely shut the door behind them when she scoops her up and hauls her over to the bed and sets to pulling off her clothes.

 

   Alex decides to tease her a little, decides to make the removal of her clothing that much harder by getting in the way of Tobin’s fingers every time she tries. At first Tobin doesn’t catch on, and Alex watches with barely contained amusement as her brow divots into determined concentration and her efforts intensify, but again Alex worms every which way except the one Tobin wants, and so her pants remain on and the tanned midfielder eventually moves the train of her eyes from Alex’s waistband to the smirk lining her lips.

 

   She catches onto Alex’s smugness and pouts immediately.

 

   “ _ Alex _ !” She complains rather loudly, and at that point Alex really can’t contain herself, and a few giggles escape her, “Alex stop being so mean,” She whines, and her fingers try once again to pull down her pants, but once more Alex evades her efforts.

 

   “ _ Tobin _ ,” Alex repeats back at her with wide blue eyes and smiling lips, “Hurry up, would you?” She orders, and then laughs into the side of her neck when Tobin tries once more to no avail, and a frustrated huff escapes her.

 

   Her annoyance becomes more apparent when her kisses become stronger, and she sucks greedily at Alex’s neck, her tongue occasionally hot against her steadily rising pulse.

 

   “When did you become so rude?” She demands, but the words are barely past her lips when Alex decides that Tobin has a little more control than is necessary at the moment.

 

   She flips them over easily—Tobin’s complacent and unsuspecting—and settles firmly over her, her fingers claiming Tobin’s wrists and pushing them down on either side of her head.

 

   “When did you become so impatient?” She hums down at her, and she doesn’t miss Tobin’s quiet gasp as she settles down underneath her.

 

   “I, uh—” Tobin doesn’t even start to form a thought as Alex leans down and sucks along the soft underside of her throat, just closes her eyes and fights a groan as she pushes up into her mouth.

 

   Alex has learned some tricks from Tobin in their time together. Mostly it’s just taking whatever Tobin does to her and repeating it back, but it works, and Tobin doesn’t seem to find it boring or cumbersome.

 

   And sometimes—only sometimes—Alex adds her own little twist, and it drives the girl beneath her about as wild as a good soccer game.

 

   Which is pretty impressive, to say the least.

 

   Alex has her pinned, knee between her thighs, hands around her wrists, lips against her throat, and for a while Tobin allows her to do as she pleases.

 

   The longer she holds out on her though, the more impatient she becomes.

 

   Alex’s height and weight wins out in the end, and she can tell by the blackness of her eyes, by the noises in her throat, that Tobin’s not very thrilled about it.

 

   “Alex,” Her body pushes against hers, tests her limits, strains as she tries to maneuver her way back on top, “Let me up,” She demands, but Alex shakes her head and leans back, stares down at her with a particularly lacking quality of mercy.

 

   “Nope. You’re going to listen to me for once,” Alex says happily, ignoring the struggles of the girl beneath her.

 

   She doesn’t have to ignore her for very long, because when she finally allows the full pressure of her knee to settle against where Tobin wants her most, her protestations come to a jarring halt.

 

   It’s surprisingly easy, after that, to bend Tobin to her will. A little push here, a kiss there and she just about melts in between Alex’s hands.

 

   Alex keeps her fingers locked firmly over her wrists, keeps them pressed down into the pillows, and hunts down her throat with her lips until she reaches the hollow.

 

   She feels Tobin’s pulse flutter there, feels it beat violently against her lips as her breathing becomes shallow and fast.

 

   She wants it beating harder. Wants her breaths more rapid.

 

   She uses her chin to push the collar of Tobin’s shirt lower—her hands are pretty occupied at the moment as they struggle to keep Tobin down—and she runs her nose along her collarbone until she reaches one of the junctions.

 

   She runs her tongue across it experimentally, lavishes it—

 

   Bites down.  _ Hard. _

 

   The noise that rises in Tobin’s throat, the way she brings her hips up to meet with her leg, lets her know she’s doing the right things.

 

   “ _ Ah _ ,” The noise is soft when it escapes Tobin, quiet as she whimpers, “Alex,” She pants out, strains to be closer to her, but Alex just grins smugly and shakes her head.

 

   She returns her attentions to Tobin’s face—her jaw in particular—and runs her lips along the strong line of it until she reaches the edge. She sucks there, scrapes her teeth against the skin, pulls back and examines the blood vessels she’s broken as the spot turns bright red from her attention.

 

   Tobin turns her face to her when Alex comes near, lunges up and catches her lips to hold her there before she can retreat once more.

 

   Alex doesn’t respond to the pressure on her lips, and Tobin is left panting, hot against her mouth.

 

   “Alex  _ please _ ,” Tobin admonishes into her skin, and Alex’s lips curve up into a smile as she shifts back slightly to stare her down.

 

   “You’re right,” Alex husks out after a moment, “I should be nice to you, huh?” She asks, moving her lips by her ear, to tease her there.

 

   Tobin nods eagerly, a hum of affirmation building up in her throat that cuts off into something much more guttural when Alex shifts around her knee.

 

   “After all,” Alex says, pecking her lips, “You did so good against Colombia, didn’t you baby?” She asks her, lowering more of her body onto her, and Tobin is quick to nod her head before she even truly comprehends the sentence.

 

   “So good,” Tobin repeats to her without pause, lets out a shaky breath, her skin rapidly tingeing pink where Alex loves on it.

 

   “And you deserve a little reward, don’t you?” She rasps softly into the width of her neck.

 

   Tobin groans, nods her head, presses against her mouth with desire, with want.

 

   Alex is quick to collect her wrists into one hand, and with her other frees herself of her shirt. Tobin’s eyes are immediately on her, are immediately glued to her frame.

 

   She takes her hands carefully, presses them to the sharp curves of her hips and holds them there for a moment before leaning down to nip at her nose, to kiss her lips.

 

   “You can touch there,” She says sweetly, though her words, like her teeth, soon become biting, “ _ only _ there,” She commands.

 

   Tobin agrees immediately, but Alex is pretty sure she’d agree to anything at this point.

 

   “Now if you’re good, I won’t stop,” She husks against her, straightens herself, unbuttons the top of Tobin’s jeans and pushes them down.

 

   “Stop wha—oh.”

 

\- - -

 

   “ _ Fuck _ , Alex.”

\- - -

 

   The Sweden game changes everything for them.

 

   It shouldn’t be so cataclysmic, but it is.  

 

   At first it’s fine, and everything is going to plan, and neither of them are playing but it’s fine, it’s okay, because they’re together and the team is working fine without them, and Tobin hasn’t stopped glowing since the day Alex took her as she wanted.

 

   Tobin rests her hand on her thigh sometimes, when Alex’s leg tapping gets away from her, squeezes it gently and smiles at her in a way that makes Alex feel more alive than any other person ever has.

 

   And then, for no discernible reason, everything gets away from them.

 

   Everything starts to go wrong.

 

   They get sixteen minutes of happiness, sixteen minutes of things being okay, and then suddenly Sweden draws a penalty and they’re down a goal and the look on Tobin’s face is anything but amiable, and Alex suddenly has a front row seat to Tobin Heath unhinged.

 

   It’s alarming, how quick the transformation is, how evident her disgust becomes. She can barely keep herself on the bench. She stops touching Alex, stops looking her way. Her eyes become fire, her fists clench at her sides.

 

   “We shouldn’t be losing,” She says, to no one except herself, but Alex hears anyways, “How are we losing? We were fine!”

 

   Alex doesn’t know if she’s supposed to answer. She tries to reach out and grab her hand but she yanks it away from her.

 

   Tobin’s shaking.

 

   Sweden puts in another goal in the 35th, and Alex watches it get worse.

 

   “Tobin,” She says when the fire in the girl’s eyes catches, “Tobin there’s nothing you can do. It’s fine, there’s still time.”

 

   Tobin’s jaw is locked, her head shaking back and forth as she loses control over some unknown, perpetual force inside of her.

 

   “I can  _ play _ , Alex,” She practically spits out, “I  _ need _ to play. I have too.”

 

   They have one sub left when they come back from half time.

 

   Tobin’s head perks up so high when Pia starts searching the bench, Alex thinks she looks more like a giraffe than a soccer player. Tobin is waiting, waiting for her chance to take the field, right out on the left wing, behind Amy and to the left of Lauren.

 

   She doesn’t get it. Pia’s eyes never move past Alex, and ten minutes later, it’s her standing at the sideline preparing to go in.

 

   She pretends like she doesn’t see the fury build up in Tobin’s eyes, but it’s ridiculously hard to ignore. She can’t help feeling unsettled, can’t help feeling awful and off, can’t help feeling like suddenly, somehow, Tobin has come to hate her in these past fifty minutes.

 

   She doesn’t understand it.

 

   Her mind is a whirling mess when she gets into the game. Sweden is faster than any other team they’ve played, and brutally physical in the way they drag her down onto the pitch. She knows she’s been placed in the game to score, knows she has some purpose she needs to accomplish, but she can’t get Tobin out of her head, can’t stop thinking about the hate in her eyes long enough to make her foot connect with the passes sent her way and put them on goal.

 

   Abby puts in a goal in the 67th minute. Alex comes out of her funk a little bit when the adrenaline kicks in and a particular Swedish defender cleats her, but by that time it’s far too late for her to find any kind of rhythm.

 

   They don’t score again.

 

   It’s a tremendous loss for the team. They give up the top spot of their group, give up a great deal of their confidence, give up their peace of mind.

 

   They’ve lost.

 

   The locker room is dead silent. Tobin doesn’t say two words to her, won’t even look at her. There’s a dangerous nature to her body in the way she directs herself in the minutes after the game, like she’s a fire building up to an inferno. Alex doesn’t know what to say to her, so she doesn’t say anything at all, and pretends like she doesn’t hear the violent clang as she slams her locker door shut loud enough for people across the room to look up at her, confused.

 

   Lauren lingers by them after that, on the bus ride home and at dinner.

 

   Alex pretends like she doesn’t notice the careful way she watches them, pretends like she doesn’t see the fear, because she’s already having a difficult enough time hiding her own. It’s hard to ignore after a while, though, when Tobin has yet to do anything but clench and unclench her jaw, her fists, square her shoulders and stab angrily with her fork at her plate of chicken.

 

   It’s not until it’s just the two of them, though, that Tobin really explodes. They’ve been in their hotel room for five seconds, and Alex has only just closed the door when she hears the first object clatter to the ground.

 

   It’s a loud impact, louder than anything should be.

 

   Tobin doesn’t stop. She hits things, throws things, breaks things that aren’t hers to break, and frankly it’s the most terrifying display that Alex has ever seen from her. She tries to call out to her, tries to stop her, but in the end her fear takes her and she just presses her back into the door until Tobin stops.

 

   It takes a while, and Tobin’s breathing hard when she finally settles, breathing rapidly, with a deep upset that unnerves Alex to her core.

 

   “What the hell, Tobin?” Alex doesn’t know what else to say, what else to do.

 

   Tobin remains trembling in the center of the room, but her eyes flash to Alex, hard and unyielding, cold.

 

   “Why?” Her voice is flat, uncharacteristically dry, and Alex finds it repellant.

 

   “Why what?” Alex asks her, steps further into the room with hesitant steps.

 

   “Why did we lose that game?”

 

   Alex doesn’t exactly have an answer for Tobin. No one does. They know that they’re a better team than Sweden, but soccer unfortunately is never dictated by statistics or expectations. They were disorganized, unfocused.

 

   “Sometimes we lose games, Tobin. You know that. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over,” Alex says, but she knows the second the words leave her mouth that no, it’s not over, especially not for Tobin, whose head twists back and forth vehemently.

 

   “No, no,” Tobin says, laughs bitterly, “It does matter. It fucking matters, Alex,” Tobin says, maliciously, her eyes unkind, a dominant posture in the strength of her stance, in the line of her jaw.

 

   Alex shakes her head. She doesn’t understand.

 

   “It’s over, Tobin,” She tells her, trying to remind her, but it seemingly has no effect on the girl, “It’s already happened. There’s nothing to be done anymore,” She says, but this is, apparently, also wrong, because Tobin’s glare turns to glowering.

 

   “It’s not over,” She insists, her tone turning dangerous, “It’s not. It should never have even happened. I should have—” She cuts herself off suddenly, takes a deep sucking breath and then closes her lips with an odd finality.

 

   This time Alex shakes her head, squares her shoulders, places her hands on her hips.

 

   “You should have what Tobin?” There’s a note of caution in Alex’s voice this time, of warning.

 

   Tobin stares her down for a moment, bites her lips, and then seems to completely ignore her tone.

 

   “Played,” She says simply, challengingly, “I should have played. Not you. I’m better, more experienced. We wouldn’t have lost. I wouldn’t have made your mistakes,” She tells her.

 

   Tobin leaves nothing unsaid, either.

 

   “You lost us the game.”

 

   It’s not just a sting, it’s a blow, and Alex feels it as one. It lights a fire in her stomach the same way talks of failure always have. Alex is first and foremost a competitor. The placement of failure—and not her own, but the team’s—fills her with hate, with soft disgust, and she directs it immediately at Tobin.

 

   Things have been going well for so long that she’s forgotten this kind of Tobin exists. One that shakes and crackles with anger.

 

   She’s not the girl that Alex loves when she’s like this.

 

   Alex is about to turn and leave her to her own devices—it’s never any use trying to reason with her when she’s like this—when something stops her.

 

   It’s not anything big, just the soft hitch in her breath, the light clenching of her fist, the tracking of her eyes to her face.

 

   It’s not anything big, but it’s enough.

 

   She walks over to Tobin with a surprising calm, stands before her like Tobin didn’t just drag up every one of her fears.

 

   “Look at me,” She demands, and Tobin, despite herself, obeys. Her eyes are still a hard brown, but if Alex pretends and looks close enough, it’s fun to imagine a softer light existing about her iris, “and tell me you actually believe what you just said.”

 

   Whatever façade Tobin has been playing under breaks, and suddenly she’s sitting down on the bed, her head in her hands. It’s a dramatic change from her previous form, and it’s oddly calming to Alex.

 

   “I’m sorry,” Tobin says, soft as a whisper, and Alex almost doesn’t catch it, “No. I didn’t mean that. Not any of it.”

 

   Alex sits beside her but doesn’t touch her. She doesn’t want to right now, but she will listen to her, she will wait for the apology she deserves.

 

   She doesn’t know why Tobin hurts those around her when things don’t go her way, but it’s a habit she’s going to break her of.

 

   “I just—” Tobin’s breath gets a little shaky, and she takes a moment for herself, “I’m just so tired of losing, Lex. I don’t want to lose anymore.”

 

   It takes Alex a long moment to gather up enough courage to touch her, but eventually she does, softly, her hand resting on her back.

 

   Tobin leans into her.

 

   “I know,” Alex says, trying to keep her voice as light as her hand, placed hesitantly between Tobin’s shoulder blades, “But you and I are done losing, okay? It’s you and me now. You have to trust me.”

 

   Tobin turns to look at her and her eyes burn brighter than the sun.

 

   “Of course Alex,” She says, and Alex thinks she sounds more sincere than she has in a long, long time, “Always.”

 

\- - -

   They sleep in their own separate beds. It’s not Tobin’s idea, but she agrees to it when Alex suggests a little time and space.

 

   They both have trouble falling asleep though, and after a while Tobin sighs and rolls over to face her.

 

   The gap between their two beds is no more than a few footsteps, but to Alex, Tobin has never felt farther away.

 

   “Al? Are you awake?” Her voice is husky with fatigue, and Alex clenches her jaw to strengthen her own resolve, to keep her distance from her.

 

   “What’s the matter, Toby?” Alex is a little more tired than originally thought. The game has taken a lot out of her, and it shows in the quiet sleepiness of her voice.

 

   “You played really well, you know,” Tobin tells her, “Better than anyone else. Even Abby,” She says, and Alex notes the nervousness in her tone and fights the urge to roll her eyes.

 

   “You know I’ve already forgiven you. You don’t have to tell lies,” Alex reprimands her, but Tobin just laughs softly, sighs deeply.

 

   “I’m not lying, striker. You were amazing, and it made me jealous. I’m sorry for that. I was mad at myself, not you.”

 

   Alex manages a sleepy hum, a much softer sigh as sleep finally comes for her, and Tobin chuckles softly, allows for silence to lapse back over the room.

 

   “I never seem to be enough for myself,” Tobin says suddenly, rousing Alex slightly from her unconscious state. She remains half gone though, and doesn’t know if she imagines Tobin’s next words or not.

 

   “But I’m going to be enough for you. I promise. You’ll see.”

 

\- - -

 

   Brazil is a blur. An emotional, chaotic, incredible blur.

 

   At first it seems that nothing can stop them when in only the second minute of play, Brazil puts in an own goal and sends them into the lead. Tobin’s up with the rest of the bench, cheering and laughing, because it shouldn’t be this easy but it is.

 

   Alex rises up when Tobin pulls her by the hand, and for a while it’s just the two of them locked in the gaze of their eyes. Tobin smiles widely, happily, and Alex thinks she could exist like this forever.

 

   Their forever is quick to shatter.

 

   Rachel flies to stop a shot on goal with a speed and strength that’s just too much. Alex sees it along with everyone else, and the world falls quiet around them as the ref approaches, red card in hand.

 

   Tobin stops smiling, and her grip on Alex gets a little looser, a little more insecure.

 

   Alex doesn’t try to keep her with her this time, she lets her go when she needs it, puts up walls to protect not just Tobin, but herself too.

 

   Hope, somehow, in some superior way, saves the penalty, and there’s an explosion of celebration on all sides, because it’s the kind of superhero action that only exists in the movies.

 

   It doesn’t last long, though. Hope gets a yellow for leaving her line too early, and Brazil gets another chance to equalize.

 

   Brazil capitalizes on the penalty the second time around, and the bench buzzes around them angrily, with hostility. Tobin buzzes with them.

 

   She’s a ball of endless frustration that she can’t channel into anything productive, and Alex doesn’t know how to make it better, so she does nothing, just keeps her eyes fixed on the field and tries not to let her own blood boil as hot as the girl sitting next to her.

 

   In the seventieth minute, she sees Pia start looking down the bench. Tobin doesn’t notice when her eyes land on the top of Alex’s head, but Alex does, and she swallows nervously.

 

   She doesn’t want to leave Tobin, not because she can’t play without her, but because she’s not sure Tobin can sit this bench alone.

 

   She hopes, for one bizarre, uncharacteristically long moment, that Pia won’t walk down the bench to her.

 

   She does, though, and the instant she’s in front of her, Alex puts Tobin Heath from her mind.

 

   She has too.

 

   She doesn’t give her a parting glance, just stands swiftly, starts going through her warm ups, pretends like she doesn’t feel her stare glued to her back, and then she’s in the game.

 

   If things were chaotic on the bench, then the angry fire driving the team is pure pandemonium. 

 

Only here, it has purpose. It only takes Alex five minutes until she’s running as hot as them, until her heart sings for the same singular victory they all desire. It’s in the frantic movement of her feet, the deep, rushed breathing of her lungs.

 

   She doesn’t even notice Tobin’s on the field with her until they just about smack into one another.

 

   Tobin steadies her with a softer hand than Alex needs in that moment. She pushes her away and lets the fire consume.

 

   The final minutes are insanity. They’re in the last minutes of their added time and the team has never moved with such purpose, or drive. Each and every one of them is moving full throttle. There’s no room for error, or weakness, or uncertainty. They’re either all in, or all out.

 

   Their salvation comes from the foot of Megan and off the head of Abby, and after a brief flirt with death in the penalty rounds, they’re on to the semi-final.

 

   There’s a lot of screaming that happens. From the crowd, from their teammates, from the deepest parts of their heart.

 

   Tobin is surprisingly calm in the aftermath. She takes Alex’s hand in hers and squeezes it briefly, softly, like they haven’t just gone to the edge and back.

 

   That night, however, it’s just the two of them and the tangle of their sheets. There’s no stadium, no teammates, no screaming or crying, shouting or laughing.

 

   She’s a lot less calm then. And she touches a lot more.

 

\- - -

 

   In the aftermath of Brazil, it feels like they’ve already won. The team is on a high, closer than ever, and fiercely confident. They’ve cheated death. There’s no greater hardship that can be given to them.

 

   The cup is theirs. They just have to take it.

 

   They fly back to Dresden for their semi-final against France, and everyone is more relaxed than Alex has seen them in a while. Most of the team sleeps, but Kelley and Amy fight over cards in the seat in front of them while Lauren watches a movie next to them with Tobin.

 

   Alex dozes on Tobin’s shoulder and draws soft patterns on the tan skin of her forearm.

 

   It’s a happy setting, a safe one. Things feel right.

 

   Tobin presses a soft kiss to her forehead when she starts to slip off, laces their fingers together under her sweatshirt where no one but them can see.

 

   Tobin’s eyes are bright when she looks at her, and Alex knows that they’re finally winning more than just a World Cup.

 

   She closes her eyes and presses closer to her.

 

\- - -

   They’re waiting in the hotel lobby for their room assignments when it happens. The French national team they’ll face in the semi-finals is staying at the same hotel, and while it’s not exactly ideal, Alex doesn’t expect it to be a problem.

 

   She’s half asleep against Tobin when she suddenly inhales sharply, steps away from her, and Alex jolts into awareness and turns to see a big grin wash over the midfielder’s face as someone blonde and laughing comes flying into her arms.

 

   “Tobin!”

 

   The voice sets Alex off immediately, but she doesn’t know why. There’s something oddly familiar to the foreign accent, something that doesn’t sit right with her.

 

   Tobin drops their bags and wraps her arms around the girl, laughs deeply, and Alex doesn’t take well to the sparkle that enters her eye.

 

_ “Bonjour, mon petit ami,” _ Tobin laughs, in broken, heavily accented French, and the girl giggles up at her with smiling lips and deep blue eyes.

 

   “I can’t believe it. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” The girl asks, and Tobin just smiles and nods and Alex can’t figure out why she’s smiling so much, why she looks so stupidly happy.

 

   Lauren’s beside her suddenly, and her presence alone makes Alex feel a little stronger, a little more steady, because her eyes are careful as she looks at Tobin and the girl.

 

   The blonde breaks away from Tobin and turns to Lauren, her smile fading ever so slightly.

 

   “Ah.  _ Bonjour _ , Cheney. Good to see you again,” She says, and then holds out her arms to receive her.

 

   Lauren hugs her briefly, loosely, and then lets her go with a tight smile.

 

   “Hey there Laure,” She says simply, but she has a weird tone, dismissive somehow. Her eyes are glued to Tobin, communicating messages Alex has no way of deciphering.

 

   Tobin just shrugs her shoulders at Lauren, the smile still solid on her face.

 

   She only seems to remember Alex when Lauren looks pointedly from her to Tobin, and then Tobin snaps to attention, laughs uneasily.

 

   “Oh, right! Alex, this is Laure Boulleau. We met when I first came over to check out PSG,” Tobin says, and Laure smiles.

 

   Lauren’s jaw clenches hard, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by any of the parties, but Laure just laughs and ignores it, moves her gaze to Alex.

 

   “You play very well for someone so young,” Laure says earnestly, but it sits wrong with Alex.

 

   It sounds false, somehow. Condescending. Half-hearted.  

 

   She doesn’t get a chance to defend herself, though, because Lauren gets there first.

 

   “Yeah, Alex is pretty incredible. She’s scored some nice goals for us. Right Tobin?” She asks sharply, and Tobin’s head snaps up and nods immediately, her eyes big.

 

   “Yeah, of course. She’s a beast,” Tobin says, with a half smile and a wink Laure’s way that sets the girl laughing again.

 

   If Alex felt off before, she feels downright uncomfortable now. Lauren feels it, because her eyes snap right to her and then away, and her shoulders square.

 

   “We should go get our room assignments,” She says with finality, and again her gaze is fierce on Tobin, “It was nice seeing you Laure. Unfortunate that we’re going to have to beat you in the game on Monday,” Lauren says, and for the first time there’s a soft playfulness.  

   Laure rolls her eyes, laughs heartily.

 

   “We’ll see. Nice seeing you again, Cheney. Good luck Alex,” She says warmly, and it’s the first time Alex relaxes.

 

   Then Laure hugs Tobin again, and Tobin doesn’t let go for a long moment, and she feels just as bad as before.

 

   If Tobin notices her discomfort, she doesn’t say anything about it, and they walk up to their room silently, Tobin humming thoughtfully as they go.

 

   They’ve been in their hotel room for a few minutes, Tobin sacked out on one of the beds, when Alex feels the need to speak.

 

   “Hey Tobin?” She asks suddenly, prepared to confront her on whatever the hell it was she just witnessed.

 

   Tobin looks to her immediately, eyes big and bright, smile wide.

 

   “What’s up striker?”

 

   Alex is ready to tell her just what is up, is ready to confront her on exactly what just happened, when Tobin’s eyes catch the light and simultaneously catch her off guard.

 

   Tobin’s dazzling to her, in every way, and when she meets her gaze and the brown circles of her eyes melt, it’s enough for Alex to know that she dazzles Tobin, too.

 

   Tobin loves her, and Alex trusts her.

 

   She slides down into her midfielder’s arms and lets the matter go.

 

   “Nothing,” She breathes into her chest, inhaling her soft smell deeply, “Just making sure you’re still here.”

 

   Tobin laughs and it shakes deep into Alex, until she feels it in her bones.

 

   “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

 

   Alex believes her.

 

\- - -

 

   She’s on her way down to get Tobin out of the rec. room when her phone buzzes. Tobin had promised she’d go around Dresden with her on their one off day, and Alex is excited to get started on their little tour.

 

   Kelley had made her play a game of pool first, though, and one game had apparently turned to seven when Lauren and Amy had gotten wind of it.

 

   The buzzing of her phone stops her right outside the rec. room door.

 

_    Unknown Number: We need to meet. _

__

_    Message delivered at 10:45: Who are you? _

 

_ Unknown Number: We need to meet soon. _

 

   Alex is quickly reaching her wit's end. She clicks her phone off and is about to enter the rec. room when voices stop here.

 

   It’s Lauren and Tobin. They’re the only ones left in the room, and while that alone would never be enough to stop Alex, their voices are.

 

   “You have to tell her,” Lauren says, her voice tight, “You have to. You can’t keep things like this from her, not anymore,” She sounds urgent, and it sets Alex on edge.

 

   Tobin sounds a lot less worried.

 

   “It’s not a big deal, Cheney. I’ve got it under control,” She says, and she sounds self assured, confident.

 

   Lauren scoffs loudly.

 

   “You always have things under control, don’t you? Well how does it always work out, Tobin?” Her voice is scathing in the most unkind ways, and Alex feels her stomach tighten on Tobin’s behalf as the girl quickly becomes defensive.

 

   “It’s different this time, Cheney—”

 

   “It’s always different!” Lauren exclaims suddenly, loudly, and Alex jumps in surprise even from the other side of the wall, “But in the end, it’s always the same. I’m tired of it Tobin. I won’t let you ruin this for yourself, not again.”

 

   There’s a soft, angry scuffling that occurs inside the room. Not enough to strike fear into Alex, but enough to coil her stomach into knots.

 

   “I love Alex, okay? I’m fine. I can handle it,” Tobin insists, but Lauren’s intake of breath is loud, unimpressed.

 

   “She’s good for you Tobin. Don’t let this get away from you this time,” She says, and then, “I know who you were in here with. It wasn’t Kelley.”

 

   The silence between them is longer this time. Alex hears Tobin take a step back.

 

   “We were just talking. It’s been—”

 

   “A  _ while _ ,” Lauren cuts in, “I know. But think, Tobin. It always starts with you just talking. But that’s never how it ends.”

 

   More silence, more uncertainty. Alex thinks she’s heard enough.

 

   Her phone buzzes in her hands again.

 

_ Unknown Number: I’d keep her close at hand if I were you. _

 

   “I’ve got it under control,” Tobin’s voice bleeds through the wall, “I promise. Nothing is going to happen. I love her.”

 

   “You always love them,” Lauren’s voice is soft.

 

   Alex backs up three giant steps and then moves forwards again, makes her presence known as she calls out Tobin’s name loudly and waits for the atmosphere in the room to dissolve.

 

   “In here!” Tobin calls back immediately, and Alex turns and enters the room to see Lauren and Tobin a good distance apart around the pool table. Lauren grins widely when she enters, almost as wide as Tobin does.

 

   She walks to Tobin’s side, smiles brightly when she extends her hand and holds onto her.

 

   “Hey Toby. Ready to go?” She asks her, and Tobin smiles and nods once, her eyes flashing over to Lauren.

 

   “Yup! That is, if Chen is done having her ass kicked,” Tobin teases.

 

   The only sign of any fight between them is the slight apprehension in Lauren’s eyes as she smiles. It fades pretty quickly.

 

   “Go on  _ Toby _ ,” Lauren teases her, a brightness entering her tone, “We’ll finish this later,” She says, and then walks with them to the door, “You two kids have fun. Make sure you take care of my little Alex,” She teases Tobin, wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck and kissing her cheek playfully.

 

   Tobin holds her a little closer after that, and grumbles the whole way out of the hotel about Lauren trying to steal her girl.

 

\- - -

 

They rent bikes and pedal around Dresden, because apparently they aren’t already tired enough. It’s relaxing and fun and easy, and Tobin buys her pizza and licks the sauce off her fingers when she thinks Alex isn’t looking. 

 

It’s easier to be together in the crowd. Tobin keeps her presence beside her solid, slips her arm around her and her hand into the back pocket of her jeans like they’re not about to win the World Cup, like they’re sixteen years old and they’re out on a date at the strip mall. 

 

Tobin laughs when Alex tells her that, smiles sweetly and kisses her once, quickly.

 

Her lips are cold and still greasy from the pizza sauce, but Alex doesn’t care, just closes her eyes and leans closer and hopes that it will all go on forever. 

 

It doesn’t. Eventually the kiss ends, and Tobin opens back up her eyes and turns them away from her, and they are forced to go on. 

 

And with the brief separation comes the flood of thoughts, the flood of worry, the darker light in her eyes and the overheard conversation with Lauren, and Alex has to stop and rethink, has to stop and contemplate whether she wants to continue to exist in this bliss or whether she wants answers instead. 

 

Alex is good at choosing wrong.

 

“So what were you and Cheney talking about before I came in?” She asks suddenly, and she hates the way Tobin just about jumps out of her skin next to her. Her head whips around to stare at her like she’s grown an extra head. There’s panic. She tries to laugh but it’s awkward.

 

“What do you mean?” She stammers out, eyes big and brown. 

 

Alex tries to play it off, tries to settle her back down next to her, but Tobin’s been set on edge and she isn’t keen to crawl back from it.

 

“It sounded important, that’s all,” She says, shrugging her shoulders as calmly as she can manage, but that’s not good enough for Tobin.

 

“What did you hear?” She demands, her voice scathing, “Were you eavesdropping?” There’s an angry defensiveness to her statement that Alex doesn’t like.

 

“What? No!” She says immediately, frowns deeply, “What’s the matter with you? I just asked a question.”

 

Tobin isn’t amused or appreciative of her word choice. She steps away from her with a crinkled brow and untrusting eyes. 

 

“I don’t enjoy being accused,” She says flatly, with great irritation, “Sorry if that upsets you.”

 

Alex doesn’t know how or why things took such a sudden turn. She reaches out to grab Tobin’s elbow, but Tobin backs away from her, shakes her head in an angry fashion.

 

“You said we were suppose to trust each other,” Tobin states loudly.

 

Alex recoils from her, because it’s a shot at her that hurts. She spends a long moment just looking at Tobin, looking into the dark depths of her eyes, weighting the strength of her statement against her actions.

 

She can’t help but feel that if Tobin really did trust her, she would have told her what she needed to know by now. 

 

Tobin steals her way back into her space without Alex really knowing how she gets there. One minute she’s standing on her own, the next Tobin is with her, shadowing her, her hands moving to rest on the top of her shoulders.

 

She holds her close in a way that doesn’t make Alex comfortable, holds her gaze in a way that doesn’t make her certain; Not about anything. 

 

“I love you, Alex,” She says suddenly, and her eyes are as unwavering as her tone, “I love  _ you. _ ”

 

Alex tries to separate herself from the rush of affection that floods through her, from how important those words make her feel, from the tight grip of Tobin’s hands against her skin, but in the end she just can’t do it. 

 

She lets Tobin back in, lets her throw an arm around her waist to keep her close to her.

 

She nuzzles into her neck for a moment, presses a light kiss to the bottom of her jaw.

 

“I trust you,” Alex tells her, watches her eyes glow like bright stars.

 

It’s not the first lie she tells Tobin Heath.

 

But it is the last.

 

\- - -

 

France changes things.

 

She can’t, for the life of her, keep Tobin’s attention on her. 

 

It’s not something Alex has had a problem with in a long time. It makes her angry, it makes her impulsive, and it makes her incredibly, almost viciously jealous. 

 

Lauren keeps a careful watch, for the first time, on her instead of Tobin. Alex doesn’t like it. She feels like she’s making a mistake, feels like she’s wrong to suddenly hurt the way she does. 

 

She just wants Tobin to look at her.  _ Why won’t she look at her? _

 

They’ve been warming up for thirty minutes now. The entire time, Tobin’s been looking towards the other team. Her eyes track around a blonde head, and simultaneously cause a nauseous feeling to settle into the pit of Alex’s stomach. 

 

“Focus, Alex,” Lauren reprimands her when her return pass is anything but ideal, and Alex closes her eyes and clenches her jaw and grits her teeth. Lauren abandons the ball for a minute and walks over to her, a frown on her face.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, alright? Forget about it for now. Focus. It’s okay,” She tells her smoothly, with a practiced, calming patience. Alex tries to listen to her, tries to take a deep breath and swallow down her discomfort. 

 

“I have to—” Alex isn’t quite sure how to finish her sentence, isn’t sure what she has to do, “I have to  _ play, _ Cheney,” She settles for explaining the least of her desires in hopes that it will somehow eclipse her need for Tobin, “I can’t sit. I won’t do it,” She says, and she knows she’s talking nonsense, but it helps. 

 

Lauren watches her carefully, nods once.

 

“You’ll play, Alex. Be patient.”

 

The game starts and Tobin may as well not even be on the bench next to her. Alex tries calling out to her, but the noise of the stadium and the game must deafen her, or she must just be deaf to Alex, because she makes no sign to let Alex know she hears her.

 

Alex is too scared to touch her.

 

She sits and stews in her own quiet silence and lets the angry flames in her stomach flare up into her throat. Every time a blonde head dressed in blue flies by them on the right, Tobin sits just a little straighter, and Alex sinks that much lower down into herself. 

 

_ You said we were suppose to trust each other _ .

 

The words swarm about in her head like bees, attacking her, weakening her. 

 

Lauren nets a beautiful, neat little goal in the ninth minute, but Alex barely sees anything except Tobin jumping eagerly to her feet in celebration. It shouldn’t make her so angry, but it does. 

 

And then suddenly, Alex is alone. Pia walks down the line and grabs Tobin by the shoulder, and the midfielder obeys the pressure blindly, without a single parting glance in Alex’s direction. 

 

In her absence, the feelings grow stronger. She needs to play. 

 

Her opportunity comes in the 56th minute, directly after France draws level with them. Amy comes out for her, and she goes in, and it’s like cool water on a burn wound in the way she slows down. Her worries fade to small insignificance. The world starts looking big again. 

 

It’s her best game of the World Cup. Her touches are perfect, her passes dynamic. She creates opportunities they shouldn’t have, somehow finds space to slip balls through that simply shouldn’t be there. 

 

When Abby scores her thirteenth World Cup goal and promptly smashes through the record, it’s off number thirteen’s foot. 

 

And then, in the 82nd minute, all on her own, Alex drills the ball home and secures everything for them. They’re going to the final, and they’re going to win. 

 

Tobin’s eyes are glued to her after the whistle blows. She runs at her and scoops her up and holds her as close as she dares, laughs thrillingly at her.

 

“That’s my striker,” She tells with a wink and a soft eye, and Alex, always, melts right into her arms. 

 

Then a blonde head runs over to them and Tobin wraps her arms around her in the same exact way, and everything good goes away. 

 

The fire in Alex burns hot that night. 

 

She makes sure Tobin feels it. 

 

\- - -

 

_ Unknown Number: You want answers. I can give them to you. Meet me here at five. _

 

Four days after the semi-final, and there’s an address to a place there in Frankfurt. Tobin is as distant as ever. Alex is tired.

 

She wants her answers. 

 

She goes and corners Lauren before she can run off with Amy and Tobin to go do something fun, stops her and shows her all of the messages from the past few weeks. Lauren’s brow furrows immediately, and she bites her lip, laughs awkwardly. 

 

“You should just keep ignoring them. Who knows who they—”

 

“I’m going to meet with them today. I need you to come with me.”

 

She takes Lauren aback, to say the least. A distance enters the girl’s eyes that Alex is tired of. 

 

“Alex, I don’t know if I can—”

 

“I need your help, Cheney. Please. Just this one time.”

 

Lauren is quiet for a long moment. She looks back down at the phone, then up at Alex again, then back down at the phone and sighs loudly, tiredly.

 

“Promise you’ll tell Tobin afterwards, and I’ll go.”

 

Alex smiles widely, steps forward and hugs her tightly, relief flooding her.

 

“Of course, I promise. Thank you so much, Cheney.”

 

That’s the last lie she ever tells to Lauren, too.

 

\- - -

They end up in downtown Frankfurt, at a small German pub. There’s only a few people inside, as it’s barely lunchtime, and Alex looks around immediately upon entrance, looking for anyone who might be familiar. 

 

“Did they tell you where they would be? Or should we just sit down and wait?” Lauren asks her, a calm, steady presence by her side. She looks a little nervous despite it, Alex thinks, but perhaps she looks into her blue eyes and reflects her own nerves right back at herself. 

 

“No. Let’s sit down and wait. You can get whatever you want, my treat,” Alex tells her, and laughs softly when Lauren’s eyes light up. Lauren squares her shoulders, wraps a playful arm around Alex’s waist.

 

“Wow, a hot date and a free meal, huh? And here I thought this entire ordeal would be awful and uncomfortable,” Lauren teases her as they followed a hostess to a booth in the far back of the restaurant. Lauren seats facing the door, and Alex sits across from her. 

 

She flashes Lauren a grimace, rolls her eyes at her and picks up her menu.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it will be. And you have a fifteen dollar limit. We get the same paycheck, so you know exactly how much money I make,” She tells her with smirking lips.

 

Lauren rolls her eyes and laughs right back at her. 

 

“Alright, alright. Easy Al, I won’t bankrupt you. Not that I can read any of this anyways.”

 

It goes on easily between them for a while after that. Lauren has never been hard to talk to, and she pretends for her sake like nothing is wrong. They put their drinks in and order food and about a half hour has gone by when Alex starts to wonder if someone is even coming. 

 

For a single moment, she hopes that they won’t. She’s getting better at figuring out Tobin on her own. Maybe she’s overreacting. 

 

Tobin would surely agree with her there.

 

She’s just about to voice her opinion to Lauren when she sits ramrod straight, and Alex watches with slow apprehension as her eyes turn to saucers. 

 

“Shit,” Lauren whispers out, her eyes glued to the door. Alex is scared to turn around.

 

“Cheney?” She asks curiously. She’s never seen such a reaction from the girl before, and it unnerves her. Lauren tears her eyes away from the door to look at Alex head on. There’s a soft fear, a complete disrupt of calm. Her eyes are sad.

 

“Oh Alex. We shouldn’t have come. We shouldn’t have.”

 

Alex still won’t turn around. She hears footsteps get closer, hears them stop behind their booth. Lauren swallows awkwardly, uncomfortably. Her eyes, usually so bold and unaffected, turn downwards in an emotion Alex has never perceived from her before.

 

Shame. 

 

“I’m so sorry Alex,” Lauren says softly, her words directed at her dinner plate instead of in Alex’s direction, “I’m so sorry for what’s about to happen.”

 

The butterflies in Alex’s stomach swarm. She feels a little sick. She wants to run back to the hotel, run back home to Tobin, but it’s too late for that now. She’s made her choice.

 

_ I thought we were suppose to trust each other. _

 

The footsteps stop by the booth. Alex looks up at the same time Lauren does, and slowly, her eyes become saucers too. Lauren speaks first, with a forceful, sad tone.

  
“Casey.”


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never listens (part three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBicqqc_UWg
> 
> tw for mentions of abuse
> 
> Enjoy!

The fun, light atmosphere that had developed when it was just Alex and Lauren is gone. There’s no humor anymore in the small red booth at the back of the pub, only a tense, awkward silence. Casey sits down next to Lauren, pushing her unfinished plate of food out of the way, and Alex finds her eyes glued to her. 

 

For all the times she had wondered on the girl who had at one point taken up such a large part of Tobin, she’s not what she expected. 

 

When Alex had imagined her, she had dreamed up hair much lighter than her own, eyes of a deeper blue, a wider, kinder smile than she herself was capable of.

 

Casey is, for all intents and purposes, startlingly similar to Tobin. They have the same tanned skin, the same brown hair, the same dark eyes, and when Casey looks across the table and meets her gaze with an uncertain grin, she thinks that maybe they have the same kind of smile too.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Lauren isn’t smiling. She tears her eyes away from the table and glares them in Casey’s direction, and Casey’s lips pull down. 

 

“Cheney. I didn’t think you’d be here,” She pauses for a moment, hesitant, “It’s good to see you again, I suppose.”

 

Lauren repeats her question. Casey rolls her eyes.

 

“I’m here to talk to Alex, obviously.”

 

Lauren doesn’t like her answer. She frowns, shakes her head back and forth.

 

“Alex,” Lauren says, and she turns her eyes to meet her gaze, “We should leave,” She continues, and Alex watches as Casey nods her head Lauren’s way.

 

“You know, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Cheney. Maybe you should go take a walk,” Casey says, and immediately Lauren is glaring her way, unamused.

 

“I meant both of us,” Lauren says, clearly frustrated, obviously uncomfortable, and she looks at Alex again, her eyes pleading, imploring, “Alex, please. You don’t have to do this. If you just talk to Tobin—.”

 

“She’ll what?” Casey cuts her off with a laugh, “Listen? Oh please, Cheney. I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to here. We both know that the last thing Tobin Heath does is listen,” Casey says.

 

Lauren’s eyes are panicked when they flash from Casey to Alex, big and wide and blue in their displeasure. Her voice is softer when she speaks, a hushed whisper, one Alex barely hears.

 

“She’s changed, Casey. Things are different now,” Lauren says in a rush, and Casey laughs without humor.

 

“Oh, yeah. She’s always changing. Beds, that is. Beds and people. It’s a wonder she can even keep track,” Casey’s voice is dry, unwelcoming, but Alex only finds herself drawn in, “No,” Casey continues, sighs deeply, “a tiger doesn’t change it’s stripes. And Tobin Heath is as striped as they come.”

 

A flash of heat strikes through her, low in her stomach, and it’s a painful anger, a biting jealousy that snakes its way up her throat when Casey mentions Tobin. 

 

It’s a bitter reminder that Tobin has not always belonged to her, and it prompts forth a certain kind of disgust, a kind of loathing to have to think of this girl touching her, kissing her, holding her in the way Alex has, in the way Alex  _ does. _

 

“Things are different,” Lauren repeats softly, sadly, her eyes turned away, but she catches the look on Alex’s face and it fills her with a new vigor, and she turns back to Casey with her chin up, her eyes bold, “You don’t know what you’re doing right now, what you’re about to ruin. It’s a good thing, Casey—.”

 

Casey cuts her off with an unimpressed wave of her hand, a roll of her eyes.

 

“I’m so tired of you thinking you understand, Cheney. Even after all this time, she  _ still _ has you lying for her, doesn’t she? Are you that wrapped up in her that you really can’t see what’s going on two feet in front of you?”

 

Alex shifts uncomfortably at the confrontation, crinkles her nose in unease as Lauren’s eyes narrow and her eyes become burning, angry. 

 

“I’ve never lied for her—.”

 

Again Lauren doesn’t get a chance to speak, because Casey scoffs and shakes her head in disagreement.

 

“You’ve  _ only _ ever lied for her. You’re doing it right now, right to her face,” Casey says, and she points a finger in Alex’s direction, but Lauren’s eyes don’t follow it, instead staying glued to Casey. 

 

Lauren gets an unsure, shameful look about her. She side eyes Alex briefly, hesitantly, and then turns from her. Her voice is much lower the next time she speaks, much softer. 

 

“I  _ didn’t _ lie—.”

 

“But you didn’t tell her the truth!” Casey demands, and she looks angry in the way she stares Lauren down.

 

Lauren looks angry too, but hers stems from a deeper sadness. 

 

Knots coil themselves into Alex’s stomach, and she wonders if they still remember that she’s present, that she’s right there along with them, watching, listening.

 

From the clench of Lauren’s jaw, the sharpness of Casey’s eyes, she highly doubts it. 

 

“Tobin’s finally in a good place, Casey. It’s a good thing they have going. I won’t let you ruin this for them, for  _ her _ .”

 

Casey scoffs, draws herself up as high as she can, and her brown eyes burn brightly, like suns, the same way Tobin’s do, in the same daring fashion.

 

“ _ We _ had a good thing going,” She whispers angrily, flatly, “You weren’t so concerned then. You didn’t give a shit when everything was ruined. You didn’t care about me.”

 

Lauren’s eyes burn hot, angrily.

 

“How can you  _ say _ that, Casey—.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Both of their heads snap up as Alex yells at them, eyes narrowed and arms crossed on the table. They both go silent, watching her carefully.

 

Lauren’s eyes are pleading. Casey’s are daring, demanding. 

 

There’s a long moment of silence, and then finally, Lauren cracks, lunges across the table to place her hand over Alex’s, but Alex withdraws from her, shakes her head firmly, and turns her eyes to Casey.

 

“Tell me,” Alex orders, looking away from Lauren pointedly, “Tell me everything.”

 

Casey smirks. 

 

\- - -

 

At first, the story Casey tells is a nice one. It doesn’t hurt her, doesn’t sting. 

 

It takes a turn quickly.

“I’ve known Tobin Heath for a long time,” She says, toying with the edge of the placemat in front of her, “Before either of us ever went to UNC, we played on the youth national teams together. She was my best friend,” She admits, somewhat unhappily in Alex’s opinion, like it’s not a fact she’s proud of.

 

It makes Alex wonder just what Tobin did to her to make her feel such a way, to make her so angry, so hesitant. 

 

“She used to be different. Happier, less impulsive. And she didn’t drink,” Casey tells her.

 

“She’s different  _ now _ ,” Lauren insists beside her, and Casey turns and glares at her, mouth open to refute her statement. 

 

Alex cuts them both off once more, sends a sharp glare Lauren’s way.

 

“Let her speak, Cheney,” She states, her voice rather cold, but when Lauren’s big blue eyes flash to her in shock, she softens her tone, “Please.”

 

Lauren crosses her arms and sulks, leaning back against the coarse fabric of the booth sullenly. 

 

Casey gives her an unhappy glance before continuing. 

 

“I always loved the national camps for the youth team. Tobin was so much fun to be around. Nothing was ever boring. She made even the mundane things seem fun. The more time we spent together, the happier I was, and for a long time, the happier she was too,” Casey says, and she takes a deep breath as her eyes get far away.

 

Alex wishes she could follow her to wherever it is she’s gone, wishes she could see the Tobin she describes.

 

“Things...things changed,” Casey tells her, softly, unsurly, with such a fragile tone to her words that a heaviness settles in the back of Alex’s throat at her words. 

 

Lauren’s eyes gentle considerably. 

 

“She kissed me on her twelfth birthday,” Casey states suddenly, jarring them from the momentary silence, her eyes suddenly bright, filled with shine, “We were leaving that night to go back home, and we’d packed all our things, and it was just the two of us in our hotel room together. She’d—” Casey takes a deep, settling breath, sighs deeply, “she’d been reading to me. Dr. Seuss. And she’d just finished telling me that ‘ _ we are all a little weird, and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with our own, we join with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love, _ ’ and then she just—.”

 

Casey stops herself, closes her eyes briefly and laughs without humor, bitterly. 

 

“Anyways, we both went home. And when we came back, the Tobin that had been mine,” She coughs awkwardly, breaks up her lines, her forehead crinkling, “the Tobin I  _ had known _ ,” She fixes quickly, rushed, “she wasn’t there anymore. And she never came back.”

 

Of all the things Alex expected to feel in their meeting, heartbroken wasn’t one of them. She’d expected to hate Casey, to hate her for the hold she had over Tobin, but Alex finds that she doesn’t, not even slightly.

 

It’s tough to hate someone who has been broken. 

 

“She’d told her grandfather, apparently. She told him she liked me. She hadn’t know it was wrong, hadn’t even thought to keep it a secret from him. And he, uh, he didn’t take it very well,” Casey continues, blinks rapidly, avoids Alex’s eyes.

 

Things slowly start to make sense to Alex, at least on certain subjects. Why Lauren is so protective of Tobin. Why Tobin was so scared to let her get close.

 

“He hit her. Quite a bit, actually,” Casey says, and it’s a whisper that Alex almost doesn’t pick out.

 

Immediately, she feels sick, nauseated as she watches the anguish in Lauren’s eyes as her fists tighten, and she knows it to be true. 

 

“Oh,” Alex says, and the breath leaves her slowly, uncertainly, “Oh my God.”

 

There’s more silence that covers the group, awkward and blistering. Casey shifts about, uncertain, and Lauren goes back to staring at her placemat, rubbing wearily at her forehead.

 

“He was the person she loved most in the world, and he told her she was worthless, that she was wrong. That he hated her, that everyone else would too. And I think it broke her, it broke the person she was,” Casey says.

 

“She still stayed with me, though. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst of it came after. After he died, after he left her that house. It wasn’t to be kind to her, or to take care of her. It was to make  _ them _ all hate her too, her family. There were so many people who needed that house, who loved it, and he went and gave it to the only person who had no use for it. And he did it to hurt her, and hurt her he did, and hate her  _ they _ did,” Casey tells her. 

 

“She wasn’t the same without her family. It was easier when we got to UNC, but she wasn’t the same. She was wild, and she drifted, and she wouldn’t stay with me anymore, and suddenly my life went from loving Tobin Heath to chasing her coat tails, begging her to stay with me. But she couldn’t. I gave her everything I had, and she still couldn’t. I should have let go then, when I realized, but I was stubborn, and I was in love, and Tobin burned me for it.”

 

“I chased her for four years, Alex. I spent four years with her as a visitor in my life, in my bed. She came when she wanted, took what she pleased. She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about me. She just wanted someone warm to make the hurt go away for a little while, to make it so she didn’t feel so hated, so she wasn’t such a failure anymore. And I, God forgive me, I let her do it. I let her do that until there was nothing left of me. And when she finally left me, I had nothing for the longest of times. And no one deserves that, Alex. Especially not you.”

 

Alex doesn’t really hear the rest of her words, because she jerks upright, squints at her.

 

“What do you mean, when she left you? You left her! In Paris, for someone else. You made her even worse, you hurt her just as badly!” Alex protests, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

Lauren freezes across from them. Casey leans back with wide eyes, stares her down for a moment, and then chuckles wryly, glances at Lauren.

 

“Is that what you told her, Cheney?” She asks her. Alex’s gaze moves to the curly haired midfielder, who is suddenly very occupied with her shoes. 

 

Lauren says nothing, doesn’t even look up at her. Casey laughs again, bitterly. 

 

“You never lied for her, huh?” She asks, the sarcasm thick in her voice. Lauren closes her eyes, shakes her head, lets out a deep sigh, but otherwise keeps her silence. 

 

“I didn’t leave her, Alex.  _ She _ left  _ me _ .”

 

The words are enough to stun Alex into a quiet silence.

 

“She...she left you?”

 

Casey nods, and Alex tries to pull from deep within her what has become her greatest fear.

 

She doesn’t know if she could handle it. Waking up and finding Tobin not there. Waking up and finding her missing. Sure, Tobin has never stayed for her either, but she has always been close at hand. 

 

The kind of abandonment Casey describes is unthinkable. 

 

Alex’s mind quickly reels to protect itself. She sits back in her seat, stares down at her hands, takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

 

“No. It’s—we have something different,” She tells Casey immediately, watches the soft shine of her eyes dim, “Tobin would never leave me. She couldn’t. You don’t know about us. You don’t know anything. Tobin’s in love with me.”

 

Finally, it seems, Casey reaches the end of her patience. Her eyes are two bright, angry suns when she looks at Alex.

 

“Oh, you would be surprised at what I know, honey,” She tells her, and her jaw sets, and Lauren turns quickly to her, grabs at her arm.

 

“Please don’t, Casey. If you ever loved Tobin, you won’t do this. You won’t do this to her,” Lauren pleads. 

 

Casey doesn’t seem to hear her.

 

   “What did she tell you? That you were _ different _ , that you were _ hers _ ? Her little soccer player, fun to take out and play with every once in awhile, young and beautiful and soft and warm and just perfect,  _ perfect  _ for her. Did she tell you she loved you the most, loved you more than anyone, that she could never love someone else the same as she does you? But it doesn’t seem that way, does it? She doesn’t act that way. Maybe when it’s just the two of you, when you’re alone in her house or in her bed, but the second there’s people involved, the instant there’s something more exciting than you around her, it’s like she’s never met you in her life, isn’t it? Yeah,  _ I know _ . I might not know you, but I know how you feel, I know her, how she operates, how she spins things together, how she makes things seem like your fault and your problem alone, because she’s just trying so hard, isn’t she? And everything you’re feeling, every issue you have, well that’s just you being clingy and lonely and blowing things out of proportion, isn’t it? Nothing’s ever her fault, she has no flaws or imperfections. The fault always lies with you.”

 

Alex shakes her head fiercely, but Casey doesn’t even glance her way, and Alex can’t tell who she is talking to anymore.

 

   “And you just want her to look at you once, want her to think about you for more than a split second, want her to want you the way you need her, the way she has  _ made _ you need her. And it hurts, it hurts so damn much. So you start doing things to get her attention, things you wouldn’t normally do. Maybe you start being mean, or you start giving in to what she wants. Regardless, you start  _ changing _ for Tobin Heath, and she never tries to change for you. You try and follow her, try and keep up with her, try to keep her near, but it doesn’t matter how long or how hard you run after her, she’s never going to stop and wait for you.”

 

   “Tobin doesn’t love you. She loves beautiful girls, loves traveling around, loves competition. She picked a damn good sport to play, there’s never a shortage of those three things. And that’s the problem in itself. You’re not special, you’re as replaceable as a soccer ball or the destination on a plane ticket. One day, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, she’s going to get bored of you. And then she’ll move on to the next  pretty, young, bright eyed, naïve soccer player that she stumbles across and you’ll be alone. That’s how it is, that’s who she is. And everyone knows it, they just don’t say anything. She’s got them as wrapped around her finger as she does you. She’s so easy to love, she’s too easy to love. Open, gentle, adaptable, gorgeous. Who would dare not to love her, who in their right mind would ever refuse her?”

 

   “No. You’re wrong. She loves me, I know it.”

 

   “When do you know it? When you haven’t fucked in a while? When she’s made a mistake, done something you don’t like? When you’re leaving her, when you’re mad at her, when she wants something from you? Is that when you know?”

 

   Alex doesn’t have an answer for her, just shakes her head, stumbles for words.

 

   “You’re wrong. I know you are. I know it.”

 

Casey throws her head back and laughs.

 

“You can lie to Cheney, and you can lie to Tobin, and hell, you can even lie to yourself. But you can’t lie to me. _I_ _know_ , Alex. I’ve been there. I’ve been _you_.”

 

Alex can’t stop shaking her head.

 

“No. No, you’re wrong,” Alex repeats, adamant.

 

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” Casey tells her, and her voice is sincere enough that Alex believes that she means it, “I’m sorry, but I’m not wrong. And you know it.”

 

 Alex shakes her head again, refuses her blatantly.

 

  “She loves me,” She insists, “She’s loved me for two years now.”

 

   Casey’s eyes are sad.

 

   “She loved me for four.”

 

“No, no it’s different. You don’t know us. How could you?” Alex demands, fire quickly replacing her uncertainty, her sadness, because how  _ dare _ she insinuate what she could never possibly understand. 

 

“But I do, Alex. I know exactly how this pans out. You say she’s changed, but do you want to know how I know she’s still a liar?” Casey questions her, and Alex scoffs, throws her hands up, narrows her eyes.

 

“Go ahead.  _ Amaze  _ me. It won’t change anything, you won’t make me hate her too. If that’s what your goal is, I’m sorry. It won’t work,” Alex tells her, and Casey smiles sadly at her.

 

“I know because I’m the one telling you this. Not her. You had no idea who she was, no idea what she had done or who she had loved or where she had come from. You had no clue. All this time, and the girl you claim to love? You haven’t known a single true thing about her, except that she likes the way you look naked, except that your warm body is enough to keep her in bed with you. But don’t fool yourself into thinking that’s love, Alex. Don’t for a minute think that she loves you,” Casey says, and Alex goes stock still as Casey stares her down.

 

“You can’t love what you don’t know.”

 

The words are a direct strike to Alex’s chest. They set her heart beating, her chest heaving.

 

“No,” Alex practically whimpers, and she wills away the burning of her tears, “She’s mine. She said she was mine.”

 

“No, she’s not,” Casey says, and it’s soft, gentle, “Tobin Heath is broken, Alex. And nothing can put her back together,” There’s a pregnant pause as Casey debates her words, purses her lips.

 

“Not even you.”

 

There is a deadly silence that settles over them. 

 

Alex wants to cry, and she thinks that maybe Lauren actually  _ is _ .

 

For a long moment, Alex thinks that this is it, that it’s over, there’s nothing left to say. Casey shifts, stands, tosses some money down on the table, even though she never ordered anything.

 

She turns to leave, but Alex stops her.

 

“Why?” She demands, not meeting her gaze at first, even when she turns around, “Why tell me? Why even care?”

 

Casey pauses, shifts her weight around, as if debating. Eventually she speaks.

 

“You deserve more than Tobin Heath can give you. It’s not enough, not for anyone. And when she finally leaves, and you realize just how  _ stuck  _ on her you’ve been, it all comes crashing down. And it’s not a pretty scene, and it messes you up really badly. And you just don’t deserve that,” Casey tells her, and there’s an honest notion to her that strikes Alex differently than the rest of her words, and for the first time, Alex finds herself hesitantly believing. 

 

“We both don’t,” Casey says, and Alex almost doesn’t catch her words as she turns to leave.

 

“Good luck in the final,” Casey tells them.

 

She leaves Alex and Lauren sitting like she was never even there in the first place. 

 

\- - -

 

The silence Casey leaves them in is deafening. Lauren won’t look her way for the longest time, even when she calls out to her, but the silence eats away at Alex, so she eventually just starts asking questions, hoping Lauren might answer her. 

 

She doesn’t get much of a response in regards to Tobin. Only when her questions center more towards Lauren does she get the midfielder to raise her head, to meet her eye.

 

“How could you not tell me?” Alex demands, not intending to be accusatory, but there’s no other way to play such a phrase off. Lauren has been lying to her, from the very beginning. They all have. 

 

“I  _ tried _ , Alex, but—.”

 

“No!” Alex protests, “no, you never tried. Not once,” She says, but Lauren just shakes her head, frowns deeply.

 

“Yes, Alex. I did. In the very beginning, I told you. I told you she never stays,” Lauren argues, but Alex laughs unhappily, wrings her hands.

 

“You can’t actually think that I would possibly understand anything from that?” Alex questions her, filled with disbelief, “Casey’s right. You’ve been  _ lying _ .”

 

This time it’s Lauren who laughs humorlessly. 

 

“Oh yeah. You and Casey are a real riot, aren’t you?” She asks, snarky, and Alex narrows her eyes, leans closer as Lauren stares her down, “You two think you just know  _ everything _ about her because she kisses you, calls you beautiful, don’t you?” Lauren asks, and Alex recoils from her.

 

“I’m her fucking girlfriend, Cheney,” Alex says immediately, unamused, but Lauren is just as uncaring as she rolls her eyes, leans back.

 

“You know, you both forget that she was mine first. Before she’d ever even realized she could do such a thing as kiss Casey. Before your existence could even be contemplated,” Lauren says, takes a deep breath, narrows her eyes, “She may be your girlfriend now, and she may have been Casey’s four years ago, but she’s been  _ my _ best friend for twelve years, Alex. And you have no idea what it’s like.”

 

Alex opens her mouth hotly, intent to reply strongly, but Lauren doesn’t give her the chance.

 

“ _ You don’t know _ ,” Lauren repeats, suddenly angry, “You don’t know what it’s like to watch the life  _ ebb _ out of the one person you need to be okay.  _ I _ had to watch Tobin Heath die in front of me, and  _ I  _ had to try and put her back together  _ on my own _ ,” Her breathing comes faster, choppy and without rhythm, “you think she broke  _ your _ heart? She’s done nothing but break mine since the moment she turned twelve. She’s done nothing but hurt me, done nothing but hurt herself. If Arod hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t—.” Lauren stops then, and Alex watches as she blinks fiercely, as if trying to clear her eyes.

 

Her breathing is ragged, uneven, and the moisture in her eyes scares Alex.

 

“What did she do, Cheney?” Alex asks her with wide, uncertain eyes, “what did she do to you?”

 

Lauren stares at her for a long, uninterrupted moment, as if weighing her options.

 

“My sophomore year, I met Jrue, and I loved him almost immediately,” Lauren says, soft, unwilling, “Tobin knew that, knew that I was too scared to tell him. And when I confronted her on what happened with Casey, she didn’t like what I had to say. She wanted to get back at me,” Lauren trails for a while, uncertain, “She, uh...she slept with him.”

 

Alex sits in a stunned silence, feels tears of her own build up behind her blue eyes. 

She’s in love with a monster. There’s no other way to look at it. A gorgeous, sunny eyed, smiley monster. 

 

“How?” Alex says, her voice hollow, “how could you ever forgive her for something like that?”

 

Lauren shakes her head knowingly before Alex can finish.

 

“The same reason you still crawl into her bed every night, Alex. The same reason that, even after hearing all of this, you're still going to run back to her now. No one leaves Tobin Heath,” Lauren says, laughs loudly, “you fall in love with her and you stay forever,” She says, and a quiet falls over them, a troubled kind of silence.

 

“Even when she doesn’t.”

 

\- - -

 

It’s a long walk home, one that is mostly silent. As it nears the end, however, Alex can’t help but ask a few more questions.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” She more or less whispers. Lauren hears her anyways. 

 

“Tobin met you and...well, it was like the old Tobin was back. The one from before. She was still flawed, but she was beautiful again. Happy. You make her so happy, Alex. I don’t know why, but you do. And I saw it, and it made me happy, and I was selfish. So I lied to you, because I needed you to stay with her.  _ For _ her,” Lauren says then, pauses, then continues, “For  _ me _ , too.”

 

There’s quiet as Alex processes and Lauren deals with her guilt. Suddenly Lauren jerks towards her, grabs her arm. 

 

“But I’m not going to lie anymore, Alex. I’ll protect you now instead. I won’t let her hurt you again, I promise,” Lauren tells her.

 

“So you’re going to tell me the truth from now on?” Alex demands, somewhat skeptical.

 

Lauren nods once, hard.

 

“Then who was it?” She asks, shocking Lauren out of her solitude, “the girl Tobin left Casey for.”

Lauren is quite, unwilling, hesitant. 

 

“Tell me Cheney.”

 

She lowers her head, rubs at her forehead.

 

“Laure,” She says, head down, eyes anywhere but on her.

 

“It was Laure.”

 

\- - -

 

Alex comes back late from the pub and feels different, feels changed. She walks into her hotel room and when her eyes find Tobin, she feels like she’s looking at her for the first time. 

 

Tobin doesn’t notice. She smiles wide when Alex finally appears, closes the gap between them quickly as she gathers Alex up for herself.

 

“You’re back,” Her words are like honey, and her voice purrs against her ear, “I was starting to miss you.”

 

Alex swallows hard, because she knows the tone of Tobin’s voice well, knows just what she wants, but she isn’t sure she’s willing to give it to her.

 

Tobin wastes little time, gives Alex no room to think. Her mouth finds her neck and makes its way down to the base, and she nibbles there softly as she pulls Alex in. 

 

Alex lets her eyes flutter closed but keeps her body stiff, resistant. Tobin doesn’t like it. Her hands worm their way up her back to her shoulder blades and massage against the smooth bones curiously, rolling against the tension they carry, trying to loosen Alex to her touch. 

 

“What has gotten you so keyed up, Striker?” Tobin husks into the small space between them, her breath ghosting over Alex’s lips before she claims them with her own, “Have I not been giving you enough attention?” She teases, and her tongue gently probes along the line of Alex’s lips, asking her to open to her. 

 

Alex pulls her lips from hers and turns her head away, buries it in the crevice of Tobin’s neck, where she can’t get at it and wraps her arms around her, presses her body tightly into Tobin’s. 

 

Tobin is very accommodating. She snatches Alex up when she comes to her, runs one lazy hand through her ponytail and keeps the other on the small of her back, securing her presence against her. 

 

“What’s the matter, Lex?” She asks after a brief moment, her hand still stroking through her tied up hair, “What do you need?”

 

Alex doesn’t move from the dark, sweet smelling spot of Tobin’s neck, just presses a featherlight kiss to her skin and blinks away the extra moisture in her eyes tiredly, her eyelashes fluttering against the soft parts of Tobin as she shakes her head quietly, uncertainly. 

 

“You’re mine, right?” She asks shyly, carefully, and she feels Tobin forcibly part from her so she can look into her eyes. Alex keeps her gaze low as her cheeks burn with slight embarrassment.

 

“You’re  _ mine _ ,” Tobin repeats back to her, nods her head, presses her lips to the edge of her jaw, “Since the day I first met you. Always, Alex,” She says, and her hands go back to her shoulders and then lower, to her back, trying to loosen her up and ease her stress, “What do you need, baby?”

 

Alex doesn’t answer, just pulls her mouth back to hers and lets her do as she will. 

 

Tobin’s suddenly very careful with her, very gentle, and it's not what Alex wants. 

 

She pulls back as Tobin runs her tongue against the pulsing of her throat, turns her head down and finds the junction of her neck, right where it meets her shoulder. She doesn't hesitate as she leans down and bites her. 

 

Tobin jolts upright at the pressure, flinches back from her a little, regards her with new, confused black eyes. They burn brightly, questioningly. 

 

“You bit me,” Tobin states, her voice curious and suddenly thick. Alex doesn't shy away from her gaze or her words, just stares her down in a similar manner, “that hurt.” 

 

Alex wonders if Tobin understands, wonders just what she knows about hurting and getting hurt. There’s fire in her stomach at the thought, and it clenches and burns hotter, because Alex knows that she knows nothing of the matter, not really.

 

And how could she, when she's the one doing all the hurting and none of the getting hurt?

 

Alex wants to hurt her back. For Casey, for Lauren.

 

For herself.

 

Her lips ghost over her neck, gentle at first, and she rests her hands at Tobin’s waist, anchors her body to her own before she warms up her chosen spot, careful in her ministrations until Tobin again relaxes. 

 

She digs back in with a quick, sharp motion, and again Tobin jerks away, gives her a keen, cutting stare. 

 

“Ow Alex,” she complains immediately, her brows contracting unhappily, in displeasure, and then she grabs at her wrists and pulls them from where they are latched to her sides and backs her up, back, back, back until she’s down on the bed and Tobin is over her, holding her there. 

 

Alex doesn't like it, doesn't like the way she keeps her down, the way she’s suddenly towering over her and taking her in with soft honey eyes. 

 

She struggles against her for a moment, tries to flip them around, but Tobin won't allow it, lets her weight sink fully over her hips to keep her immobile. 

 

“What's happened?” Tobin says then, moving a hand to take Alex by the chin, but Alex jerks away from her in a fast, abrupt movement, and Tobin withdraws, suddenly uncertain. 

 

Her eyes get hard.

 

“What happened at the pub, Alex?” She demands, but her words don't hit Alex the way they usually do. 

 

She's not intimidated by Tobin’s words or her tone, not when she herself is so incredibly angry with her. 

 

“Nothing,” she says quickly, in a rushed manner, and the disbelieving line of Tobin’s brow prompts hot, angry tears to the forefront of Alex’s, makes her stomach coil into small, hateful knots. She tries to brush the few tears that escape her away, but Tobin holds tight to her wrists.

 

Shock crosses Tobin’s expression at the tears that fill Alex’s eyes, and she shifts back, loosens her grip on her, inhales sharply. 

 

“ _ Alex _ ,” She breathes out, and it’s gentle, confused, tender in a way that only makes the tears come faster, “Oh, Lex. What’s the matter—.” 

 

Tobin is cut off as Alex lunges upwards against her, knocking her off. It takes her by surprise and she hits the floor hard, a loud  _ oof _ escaping her. 

 

For a while it's just quiet as the two stare at each other, Tobin looking up with disbelief, Alex glaring down with disdain, with contempt—with pain. 

 

Alex takes a deep, shuddering breath, tries to hold back the sadness that pools in the back of her throat, but it's not easy with Tobin’s doe eyes blinking up at her. 

 

“Say it,” She says, and her voice is raw, and trembles, “say you're mine,” she demands. 

 

Tobin watches her carefully, hesitates uncertainly. 

 

“I'm yours, Alex,” she tells her gently, softly, “of course I'm yours.”

 

“Only mine,” Alex reinforces, her tears quieting, her breathing evening out.

 

Tobin nods her head.

 

“Only yours,” she echoes. 

 

“No one else's?” Alex asks, and it searching, probing, and Tobin sits straight and gives her a hard look of a similar nature. 

 

She shakes her head slowly, studying her with careful, melted eyes.

 

“No one’s.” She affirms. 

 

Alex relaxes, and as her shoulder sag downwards, diffusing the tension in the room, Tobin falls at ease too, a great whirling breath escaping her body. 

 

She moves back onto the bed at Alex’s beckoning, crawls back over her when Alex guides her, and Alex’s hands settle against the waistband of her black soccer shorts, pressing her close. 

 

She reaches up then to find the mark she left on Tobin’s neck, and when she places her mouth on it again, it's with a sweet, tender nature. 

 

Tobin hums softly, leans into her as Alex soothes her tongue over the bite, de-stresses fully as the two of them reacquaint. 

 

Alex’s tongue falters for a moment, and she lets her mouth fade away, moves her eyes to peek up at the midfielder.

 

“Prove it,” Her voice rasps, calling Tobin closer, daring her, “make me believe you,” She commands, and watches as Tobin moves to hover over her, her eyes black and wide as saucers, “that’s what I want,” She tells her, breath hitching as Tobin’s fingers find their way under her shirt, onto the hard muscles and soft, taut skin of her navel, “that’s what I need.”

 

Tobin’s pretty good at getting past her remaining defenses after that. She pulls Alex’s shirt over her head the moment she moves to allowed it, hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her pants and pushes them down to her knees, shifts so Alex can kick them off and then settles back over her solidly, making sure she can feel the weight of her where she most desires it. 

 

Tobin’s lips move to hers then, push at them insistently in an attempt to open her up, but Alex turns her head, presses her lips to Tobin’s jaw instead. She feels Tobin shaking softly against her, feels her breath against her ear as she reaches around and grabs her ponytail, follows it up to where the elastic sits and pulls it free. 

 

“It’s okay, Alex,” Tobin’s voice is husky in her ear as she collects her hair and swipes it to rest out of the way, “I’ve got you,” She hums before pressing her lips to her shoulder, giving her a few soft love bites in the direction towards her collarbone, “you can let go, baby.”

 

Alex doesn’t give in to her, not yet. Her muscles tighten along the path Tobin draws with her hands, frustrating the midfielder, but she doesn’t let it show, just increases her efforts, moves her hand to toy at the edges of Alex’s underwear, to trace soft circles over the fabric. 

 

She gets the gasp she’s looking for, wastes little time in moving her lips to fill the spaces Alex’s mouth forms, and slips her tongue inside to rub against hers. Alex finds herself sighing into her mouth, finds herself relaxing into her whether she intends to or not, and simultaneously gives Tobin what she’s been looking for since she entered the room.  

 

The submission warms Tobin to her, settles her back down as her fingers run over the hard lines of her stomach, as she kisses her hard before breaking away to kiss her neck, between her breasts, down the line of her abs. She stops her path over her diaphragm, presses her mouth firmly against the hard muscles protecting it as it pushes out against her lips with every one of Alex’s breaths. 

 

She looks up at Alex when she peeks down at her, breath coming fast, and her eyes are a fired, black charcoal, only the very edges of her iris’ giving way to softer brown.

 

The look she sends her way is one of desire, and her tongue is hot as it scrapes across the skin of her naval. She has soft noises forming in the back of Alex’s throat, ones that reflect her want, her need.

 

Her hand moves past Alex’s last barrier, pushes past the thin fabric and moves to cover the warmest parts of her, to probe curiously, lazily. The action pushes the sounds from Alex’s mouth out into the empty space between them, and Tobin drinks them in as she makes her way back up to Alex’s lips, pulls them between her own like they’re hers, like they belong there. 

 

Alex gives herself up freely this time, pushes her hips up into Tobin’s hand, runs her arms up and around to grab her shoulder blades and hold their bodies together. 

 

“There’s my good girl,” Tobin husks against her mouth, nipping at her, “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

 

Alex obeys mindlessly, her fingers grabbing firmly at her back, her legs moving to hook around Tobin’s ankles, to give her further leverage to push herself up against her, into her.

 

Tobin’s hand moves lower, deeper.

 

“That’s it, Striker,” She hums, strokes her tongue over her bottom lip, “Take what you need.”

 

Alex isn’t doing any of the taking, though, as Tobin’s movements rock through her, bring her closer to the edge.

 

Alex only gives.

 

It’s Tobin who takes.

 

\- - -

 

The morning of the final, Tobin glows beside her. 

 

It’s in a happy, joyful manner, one that quickly becomes contagious, and it leaves Alex wondering just how wonderful the old Tobin must have been if this damaged version of her can still light up the room in the way she does.

 

Tobin is all bright eyes and warm smiles as they eat, and long, hidden touches under the table, mostly innocent, but she grows braver the longer she remains undetected, and Alex grows redder, shifts around a lot more. 

 

She thinks that Lauren probably takes notice when she coughs loudly and, at the same time, shoots daggers Tobin’s way.

 

It stops the touching, but it doesn’t quell any of her joy. 

 

It’s easy to be joyful, after all, when they’ve won the World Cup.

 

Of course, they haven’t actually won it yet, but they can all feel the weight of the medals around their necks, can all feel the trophy in their hands, the gold of the confetti, the roaring of the crowd. Maybe they would have thought differently had Sweden advanced over Japan, but Japan had seemingly done them the favor of wiping out their competition. It was so simple now.

 

Beat a weaker Japanese team, and become world champions. 

 

All of the fear has left the team now, it has no place among them. They know they can win over Japan—the entire world knows it. The press already sing their praises, and article after article from various newspapers around America blow up their phones, all proclaiming them soon to be victors. 

 

The people in the halls of their hotel offer them similar congradulations. They come from all sorts of people, including the many heads of the French national team, who have stayed behind in the wake of their defeat for the third place match and to watch the final game play out. 

 

Laure offers her praise to Tobin, and Alex watches through careful eyes as Tobin seems to glow brighter, stand taller, smile wider. Alex pulls her away after that, forcefully, before Laure can touch her, and Tobin is too high in the sky to see or care about her uncertainties. She feels Laure’s eyes on the back of her head as she walks away, but shakes it off, comforted by Tobin’s hand in hers and the well wishes of the people around her.

 

It’s just too easy, and it’s supposed to be easy. That’s what everyone tells them, what ever one gets them to believe.

 

Until suddenly, it’s not so easy anymore. 

 

The noise of the stadium is astounding as Alex watches from the bench beside Tobin as the starters take the field. It’s a kind of intense roaring, one that lights the fire in Alex’s stomach, makes her jittery and excited, fills her with a deep, fierce passion. She wants to move, to fight, to feel the grass under her cleats and the ball at her foot. 

 

Instead, she only has the cold metal of the bench pressed up against her legs, and for a brief moment, the warmth of Tobin’s hand on her thigh, reminding her to be patient. 

 

Alex listens to the pressure, turns eager eyes to the field and waits for the goal that will surely guarantee their win. 

 

Except then forty-five minutes of nothing goes by, and they still stand level at a 0-0 draw, and Alex isn’t alone in feeling the frustrations of the team when nothing will go right. Tobin frisks beside her at every missed opportunity, groans at every failed corner kick and uncalled foul, and Alex gets a front row seat as the glow slowly starts to fade from her.

 

It doesn’t start in her eyes, but it ends there, finishes only when the bright lights of her honeyed eyes have dimmed to soft flickerings. 

 

At the sight, Alex’s stomach sinks. 

 

Pia takes them into the locker room and yells at them, but no one really listens. Their minds have trouble deviating from the single fact that it’s not their style of play, it’s not that they’re making mistakes, it’s that everything is going absolutely  _ wrong _ for them, and no one has any idea on how to fix it. 

 

Tobin trembles quietly next to her, eyes glued to Pia’s frame as she talks. Alex knows what Tobin has in mind for a fix, can see it in the yearning of her black eyes. They are hungry, craving.

 

She thinks that maybe Pia sees it too. 

 

It’s not Tobin she sends out onto the field, though, in the 50th minute. It’s Alex. 

 

Her heart is in her throat as she stands by Abby, trying to follow the forwards words but getting only bits and pieces. She can’t really feel her legs, can’t feel  _ any _ part of her, and she scrapes together the remnants of her will and hopes that it will be enough. 

 

She spends ten minutes doing the grunt work for the team, chasing down hopeless balls and pressuring for possession, waiting for someone to fix the team, to fix the game. 

 

It’s only then, when Abby gestures wildly at her to start running, that she realizes  _ she _ is the fix. 

 

After that, it’s second nature to sprint away towards the goal. She’s all alone when they loft the ball to her, the single white jersey amongst a sea of blue. She isn’t afraid this time. She’s stronger and faster than the defender that runs out boldly to shut her down, and it’s an easy practice maneuver that sends the ball from her right foot onto her left, the defender three paces off from keeping the exchange from happening. 

 

She slams the ball home into the net without really having to look to see if it makes it’s mark. One minute the world is deadly silent, and the next it explodes into a world of sound.

 

Her teammates are on her immediately, shouting her name, petting her head, her back, praising her for her hard work, for her effort. 

 

The crowd screams along with them, screams her name for the entire stadium to hear, shakes through Alex in an undeniable, solidifying manner. 

 

Alex only has eyes for the bench, though. She seeks out Tobin quickly, finds her up with the rest of the team, cheering just as loud, her eyes bright and mouth wide, and Alex feels her heart burst in her chest. 

 

They’re going to win. She can  _ feel _ it. 

 

Maybe they all feel it too much, though, because eleven minutes later Japan draws level with them, and no one sees it coming. They collapse into angry buzzing and complete disbelief as Hope screams at the backline about organization and stupid, careless mistakes, and Abby rallies the offense around her to get their heads and legs thinking and moving forwards again. It’s frantic instruction, given more with heart than brains, but it gets the message across. 

 

“Let’s win this fucking game,” Abby yells at them, but her eyes stay on Alex, and instantly she feels the weight, the pressure back on her shoulders as she meets her eyes and straightens up, tries to make herself as big as the legend before her. 

 

She feels the cadence of her heart rise as it tries to beat out of her chest, tries to beat along with the eleven other players out on the field with her. She thinks it will eventually reach the end of it’s climb, but it only continues on in it’s wild, uncontrolled track. 

 

She finds herself wishing Tobin was with her. The sight of her long legs and messy hair and loose smile always calms her down, always allows her to ease back and think.

 

There’s no ease now, no thinking, just mindless, desperate running in an attempt to pull away with the lead once more. 

 

She forces her legs to run as hot as her head, as hot as her heart, and throws herself back into the game, at Abby’s side, with a new vigor, contents herself to let the burning in her lungs eat away at her until there is nothing left but desire and will. 

 

The remaining ten minutes they play is useless to them. Tackles become sloppy and painful, and contact goes from minimal to aggressive within the span of five minutes. Alex gets into the box only once, and gets tackled so hard she swears her ankle comes off.

The whistle blows after another five minutes of struggle, signalling the end of regulation time, and Alex just about collapses as she wobbles her way off the field, breathing hard. She can’t feel anything, can’t even really see anything, she just walks after Abby aimlessly, following her towards the bench, trying to beat some feeling back into her finished muscles. 

 

Tobin is there to catch her. She hits a warm, solid body and jolts back, blinks bleary eyes up at her smiling face. Tobin’s fingers reach out and trace her jaw in a soft, hidden manner, holding onto her softly. 

 

“How’s your face, Striker?” She asks as Alex leans into the palm of her hand, desperately seeking the tender affection Tobin offers to her, “I saw you hit it when you fell,” She says.

 

Alex sighs and pulls away, tries to shake some sense back into her, some feeling, and keeps her eyes on Tobin, on the bright brown warmth of her eyes.

 

She looks around secretively, almost guiltily before leaning further into her.

 

“It hurts,” She tells her honestly, her voice a broken whisper, and she watches sympathy flood through Tobin as she tsks her tongue, places both hands on her shoulders and rubs them as soothingly as she can. 

 

“You’re doing great, Lex. You’re doing exactly what you need to be doing. It’s going to be okay. It’s almost over,” She says, and Alex nods numbly, blinks her eyes closed, fights the bizarre urge to cry, because it doesn’t feel like it’s almost over, it feels like it’s just beginning, and it feels like she’s alone, and it feels like nothing she’s doing is working or helping. 

 

She reaches out to Tobin, fists a good portion of her jersey in her hand as she wraps her up in a quick hug, as if scared to give away too much of herself at once. She lets her nose brush against her neck for less than a moment, lets herself take the comfort she needs. 

 

“I’m scared Tobin,” She tells her, feels her own breath hitch as Tobin wraps her arms around her in return—if only for a moment, “I don’t want to be alone out here.”

 

Alex isn’t just talking about the game, but Tobin doesn’t know that. She pulls back and gives her a careful stare, a warm smile. 

 

“You don’t have to be,” She tells her, carefully undoes her fingers from her jersey and smooths back out the fabric, well aware that they are now being watched, “I’m not leaving you.”

 

Two minutes into overtime, Alex realizes Tobin was telling the truth. She’s out at the edge of the field, dogging it after a stray ball when it  _ just _ rolls by her foot out of bounds, and she’s two seconds away from  _ stomping _ her foot down in anger when the whistle blows and her head whips around, and suddenly Tobin is running in for Megan, her strides long and relaxed.

 

She beelines directly over to Alex’s side, comes to a rest not fifteen yards from her and grins up her way, shifts her weight around from foot to foot, stretches out her arms.

 

Alex’s heart leaps, and she finally gets the release she’s been desiring as the world and the game slow down beautifully around her.

 

Everything is so simple when it’s just her and her midfielder. 

 

She feels the connection between the two of them before she sees it, feels it in the strong warm pulse that grows from her stomach and stretches outwards, feels it in the way she knows Tobin’s eyes track her as she runs about in front of her, suddenly that much more free and energized. 

 

She sees it when Tobin’s service ends up right on her foot again, sees it as the team rallies around them, sees it as they start to push back against a team that has been beating them down the entire game. 

 

The feeling comes back and strikes Alex once again. They’re going to win. She can see it in the tall stance of Abby, in the loosening of Carli’s shoulders, in the free movements of Tobin as she snakes her way through the opposition to get the ball to her.

 

She sees it most clearly in the 104th minute, when Tobin sends a bullet of a ball up to her and into the box, and she reaches out and strikes it hard in the direction of Abby.

 

Abby gets her head on it, and it slams into the back of the net, and all at once the world is loud again, because things are  _ right _ again.

 

Alex flies to Abby’s side, leaps up and crashes into her and screams herself hoarse as they celebrate. They’ve done it, they’ve done it, they’ve done it. Sixteen more minutes and they’ll be world champions.

 

Alex catches Tobin’s eye as she slides off Abby—the girl stands sandwiched between Lauren and Carli, laughing with complete and utter abandon—and watches as she turns to her and her smile softens into a look of affection, into a look of love, and she raises her hand to wave at her, twitches her face into an awkward wink that fills Alex with flutters, the kind that wells up like water and floods her throat, leaves her breathless. 

 

Staring at her then, Alex knows that Casey  _ is _ wrong, that they all are.

 

Tobin Heath  _ loves _ her.

 

Tobin Heath loves  _ her _ .

 

And she, with all the wild, fast beating of her heart, with every breath and word she holds within her, loves her back. 

 

She takes a step towards her to tell her, because  _ this is it _ , this is the moment she lets Tobin know that she is enough for her, that she is everything to her, that  _ you and me, together _ makes perfect sense because where else would she dare to be but right by her side?

 

She never gets to her. Tobin doesn’t see her coming, runs away from her and leaves Alex to wander back to her own position and throw herself back into the game, and for a short moment Alex is hurt, but  _ it’s fine _ because in sixteen minutes they’ll be winners of more than just the game, and Tobin will  _ know _ , and the world will be right again, and Alex won’t be alone anymore, won’t be alone  _ ever. _

 

Their sixteen minutes doesn’t come. 

 

Three minutes before the end of the game, everything falls apart, and then the ball is back in the wrong net and Alex is left to stare down the field with every one of her teammates, absolutely horrorstruck.

 

Alex feels tears build up in her eyes, feels the need to weep bitterly, because she’s never worked harder than she has in these 120 minutes, and she is exhausted, and she is  _ angry _ and how,  _ how _ could this happen to them now?

 

Tobin comes for her once more, gathers her up against her side and holds her tightly, her voice a gentle coo, a hushed hum.

 

“It’s okay Alex, don’t worry. We’re going to be okay. We’ve got this,” She says into her ear, and Alex holds tight to her, looks up at her face and wonders how she can be so calm, so sure, so confident, “It’s all taken care of,” She promises her, and Alex, for no reason other than that she loves Tobin Heath, believes her. 

 

She tries to tell her then too, tries to make the words  _ I love you _ form on her tongue and pass to Tobin’s ears, but Pia gathers them close and starts dictating the takers of the penalties. 

 

Alex nudges Tobin, tries to claim her attention, but Tobin’s eyes are forwards as the names pass over them, and at first Alex doesn’t know why until she takes in the black depths of her gaze, the strength of her stare, and realizes that Tobin is searching for something. 

 

“Boxxy first, then Carli, Abby fourth, Krieger last…” Pia trails off, and Alex’s head snaps to watch the exchange as her eyes settle on Tobin.

 

Tobin stares right back at Pia, eager, wanting, shoulders bent as if in preparation for the weight she wants placed upon them.

 

“Tobin,” Pia says then after a moment, nodding her head in their direction, “you’ll be third.” 

 

Tobin snaps to attention, a cool smile spreading over her face, and she looks down at Alex as the crowd around them disperses. 

 

“See?” Tobin questions her, a dark glow building up in the depths of her eyes, “It’s all under control. You rest. I’ll take care of it,” She promises her, and then—as if they already aren’t pushing the boundaries enough—she lets her lips brush the side of her face in one long touch before she pulls back and heads after Carli. 

 

Alex tries to stop her, tries to tell her what she’s been wanting to get at for the past twenty minutes now, but Tobin ghosts away from her once more, leaves Alex standing on her own again.

 

She makes her way over to stand by Lauren and Kelley and Amy, pushes close to them in an attempt to hide her own fear. Lauren gives her a sweet smile, pulls her into a hug as she comes to rest beside her.

 

“Don’t look so glum Alex. It’s going to be fine,” Lauren tells her, and Amy peeks around Lauren to beam at her widely, a nervous energy running through her.

 

“Sick goal, Alex,” She notes with a nod of her head, and Kelley scrambles to push her way over to Alex, to jump on her back and hold tight to her. 

 

“And an even better assist,” Kelley adds, her smile just as strong.

 

They calm Alex down considerably, remind her that things will be fine, and she relaxes into them, allows her eyes to wander away from Tobin’s frame for a moment as they prepare to take the penalties. 

 

Lauren’s hand squeezes hers for a brief moment, voices her inner thoughts.

 

“It’s going to be fine, Alex.”

 

\- - -

 

The bus ride back to the hotel is deadly silent, except for the loud weeping that comes from several of the players. 

 

Alex is too tired and dehydrated to cry very long, and once she runs out of tears, just sits there silently, trembling numbly, her legs burning underneath her.

 

Tobin is still as stone beside her, and Alex doesn’t touch her for fear of what might happen. She sits in such a way that every time they pass a streetlight, it catches the silver shine of her medal and throws it up in their face. 

 

It makes Alex feel sick, makes her wish she had more tears to give. 

 

Tobin doesn’t cry, doesn’t make any notion to give away that she is actually alive and hurting. 

 

She leaves Alex to hurt alone, and it makes everything that much worse. 

 

All around her, the others comfort one another. Carli and Hope sit in the same seat for once, knees touching. Abby and Christie sit with their heads hunched low, locked in fierce, rapid discussion. Sydney lets Kelley cry onto her t-shirt, ruining the fabric. Right across from them, Lauren hides herself away at Amy’s side, her sniffles occasionally audible to Alex.

 

Tobin gives her nothing, and it hurts more than any penalty she could ever have missed. 

 

They get off the bus and the staff try to get dinner into them, but no one feels like eating. There’s just a dead, sullen silence that hangs over them, unbroken by any words the coaches can try and give them. Most have already taken their medals off, but some still swing teasingly around the necks of others, reminding them of what they have lost out on. 

 

Finally they let them go, and they all walk quietly to the elevators. Some of them cry again. Alex tries to grab Tobin’s hand, but she pulls away from her, forces her body in between Lauren and Amy’s and continues to stand stiff, unchanging. 

 

Lauren shoots her a worried look that Alex pretends not to see. 

 

She follows behind Tobin as they walk back to their room, watching her carefully for signs of distress. She finds none. In fact, Tobin doesn’t look different at all, looks just like she would any other day. 

 

Tobin enters their room first, slides her card into the slot and pushes it open with little regard for Alex, walks right into the room and over the window and then just  _ stares _ .

 

Alex observes her for a long moment, runs her eyes up her tensed body, tries to avoid the silver flickering of the medal around her neck.

 

“Tobin?” Her voice is soft, yearning, “Tobin please.”

 

She gets nothing but silence and turns from her with a sigh, flops down on the bed as more tears buildup in her eyes, prepares herself for a long night an anguish and solitude.

 

Something whistles by her ear, slams into the wall above her with a shrieking sound, and Alex jumps like she’s been shocked, looks up to find the silver medal stuck in the plaster wall above her, the broken blue ribbon’s torn ends inches from her. 

 

Her eyes follow the path of the object back to Tobin, where she stands trembling, tears streaming down her face. 

 

“Fuck,” The first word from Tobin’s mouth is a poisonous one, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

Alex can’t make herself do anything but stare, wide eyed, as Tobin unhinges before her. 

 

She throws anything she can get her hands on, really. Her new bag, one of her snapbacks, the hotel lamp, and when she runs out of things on her side of the room, she starts beating against the big wooden bureau with her legs, intent to kick a hole in it. 

 

The wood is stronger than it looks and Tobin jumps away swearing, grabs at her foot, then turns and slams her fist down into it hard, yelps as pain spikes through her.

 

_ “Fuck!” _ She shouts, and her motions become angrier, more wild. She knocks the bottles of water off their shelves, shatters a picture frame against a wall, throws her cleat bag into the door with a hard  _ thwack _ . 

 

All Alex does is stare. After a few minutes, she can smell the blood of Tobin’s hand, and her eyes follow the darkened spots on the carpet where she bleeds. 

 

Only when Tobin snatches up a bottle of her perfume and turns toward the window does Alex lunge across the bed.

 

“Not the window!” She shouts, and it’s enough to knock Tobin out of her stupor. She stumbles, off guard and wobbly, as if finally feeling the extent of her injuries, and collapses into herself on the floor with a loud sob. 

 

“Fuck,” She whimpers, and Alex finally feels sure enough of herself to crawl over to her. She pushes close immediately, forces the bottle out of her hand and then grabs her face, tries to pull her close.

 

“Tobin, please. Look at me. It’s okay, it’s okay,” She tries to tell her, tries to subdue her, but Tobin resists her, pulls away, pushes her hard.

 

“Get off me,” She yells, and her voice is broken, “Don’t  _ touch _ me,” She demands, and her breath is shallow and rapid, like she can’t get enough air. 

 

“Tobin,” Alex pleads, content to repeat her name however many times she needs, “It’s okay, baby, it’s fine, it’ll be okay—.”

 

“ _ Don’t touch me!” _ Tobin screams, and her hands are suddenly hard and fast against Alex’s chest as they push her away roughly, and Alex shoots backwards at the strength of the blow, knocks her head into the corner of the bed and stays there, watching Tobin with huge blue eyes.

 

It doesn’t help the situation when she starts to cry just as hard as Tobin.

 

Tobin sobers up the second her head smacks the bed, looks on with horrified eyes. Another “fuck” slips between her teeth, and she reaches a hand towards her, as if to soothe her, but yanks it back to herself just as quickly, stares down in anguish at the blood that flows down it from the knuckles. 

 

“ _ Alex _ —.” Her name escaping Tobin’s teeth sounds painful, and Alex cringes away, tries to bite back some of her sobs, but can’t, because the entire day just  _ hurts. _

 

Tobin hides the pain in her eyes after that, straightens up suddenly, looks around like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

 

“I—,” Tobin searches for words with a panicked, angry nature, “I have to go. I have to leave,” She says, talking more to herself than Alex. She runs past her, over to grab her jacket, slides it on and sticks her hand into her pocket, “I’ve got to go,” She repeats. 

 

Her words terrify Alex even more than her shove, and she shoots to her feet, ignoring the throbbing of her head, and stumbles over towards Tobin on tired, burning legs.

 

“No!” She protests, because she knows that if Tobin leaves, everything else will leave with her, and she can’t have it, she won’t.

 

Tobin’s all she has now. 

 

She flies over to her, ignoring the wild look of panic in Tobin’s eyes, and gets just as close as before, her hands reaching up to grab at her jacket and try to pull it off.

 

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here, you’re staying with me. You’re  _ mine _ , Tobin,” She’s yelling at her, pulling her closer even as Tobin tries to push away, to find some sort of escape.

 

Tobin thrashes against her but Alex shakes her head, pushes her back  _ hard _ , because if Tobin wants to hurt her then Alex will gladly hurt her back. She waits for the wall to push Tobin’s breath from her, waits for her mouth to open to replace what it has lost and fills the space quickly with her own lips, kisses her hard and fast.

 

Tobin’s arms finally find their way back into their jacket, finally push up and against Alex, separating them.

 

“Get off Alex, I have to leave, I have to,” She yells right back, tries to push her off and zip up her coat but Alex is so close her medal ribbon gets stuck in the zipper and leaves Tobin struggling until she can free it. 

 

“No you’re not,” Alex sobs against her chest, her arms trying to find their way around her, trying to force her to do what she wants, “You’re not, you’re not,” She repeats brokenly, pushing closer, trying to get in the way of her hands, and Tobin’s frustration grows dramatically as she growls, pushes Alex  hard and away until her medal follows her.

 

“I can’t stay, Alex,” She tells her, tries to head for the door, but Alex follows her, grabs hard to her shoulder, yanks her back around.

 

“Well I need you to!” She shouts so loud she swears the entire building must have heard them by now. Tobin laughs bitterly, rolls her eyes, scoffs and turns from her.

 

“No you don’t. I can’t do anything right. I can’t stay,” She says, and Alex’s sobs increase as she grabs at her arm and pulls her away from the door.

 

“Yes you can,” She insists, ignoring her fatigue, “You have to. You  _ have _ to,” She tells her, but Tobin just shakes her head.

 

“Why? I’m no good for you Alex. I’m no good for anyone,” She tells her, rips her arm away and pushes her back again, harder this time.

 

“What do you mean, ‘why?’” Alex demands, breathless, and Tobin rolls her eyes.

 

“Why,” She says slowly, spelling it out for her, “Why do you need me to stay?”

 

It takes Alex less than a second to decide that now is the time.

 

“Because I love you,” She admits, and it’s so soft she she swears Tobin doesn’t hear it until all her frantic motions stop, until she suddenly comes to a whirring hault. 

 

At first Tobin’s black eyes just stare at her, take her in. There’s a look that enters them, a predatory kind of glare that has Alex suddenly shrinking away from her. It reminds her of the night of the wedding, the night Tobin came for her. It makes her hair stand up, makes her stomach buzz and her toes tingle. 

 

It’s the first time Alex backs away willingly, wanting the space, but this time Tobin stalks after her, gives her none of what she needs.

 

Her hands are rough at her sides as they push Alex back, and her knees hit the bed, and the combined force puts her on her back with Tobin over her, straddling her, looking even bigger than usual in her black jacket, with her dark eyes and her dark words.

 

Alex pushes against her, brings her hands up to keep her off, but Tobin’s weight sinks down over her hips and pins her to the bed, and her hands grab her wrists roughly and force them back down.

 

“You love me?” Tobin sneers down at her, and Alex finds herself blinking back tears, finds herself quickly feeling ill. 

 

She’s still brave though, so she nods her head once, even as she tries to kick herself free of Tobin.

 

Tobin chuckles without humor, and then she closes down on Alex, and her lips are as sharp and hard as her teeth and her words. She gives Alex a searing kiss, forces her mouth open to her and bites at her, shifts when Alex whines her discomfort, turning her lips to her neck. She sucks harshly against her skin, bruising it, sinks her weight down unkindly over Alex when she pushes up against her uselessly. 

 

When Alex thrashes, she bites her, only stopping when Alex cries out, when she brings up her knee to hit her, to try and force her off, but Tobin won’t go. She stops for a moment, presses her lips to Alex’s ear, laughs wryly.

 

“Are you going to  _ show _ me how much you love me?” She taunts jeeringly, one of her hands leaving Alex’s wrist to to push at the waist of her pants roughly. Alex twists underneath her, moves away from the pressure, and Tobin’s teeth become biting again, this time against her earlobe, “Or are you going to admit that you’re a  _ liar _ .”

 

Tobin’s fingers push past her jeans, and Alex has had enough. She jerks away from her, kicks her hard in the side.

 

“Get the  _ hell _ off of me!”

 

Tobin is gone before Alex can finish her sentence, her back pressed up against the opposite wall. There’s anguish back in her eyes again, pain, and a good collection of tears that stream down her face. She pants wildly, uncertainly, her eyes fixed on Alex’s face, and Alex stares back at her, shock in her eyes, a similar pain.

 

Tobin seems to search for words as her eyes travel around the room and then shut tightly, a sob escaping her. When she opens her eyes, they’re not so hard. She steps towards Alex carefully, stops when Alex scurries away from her, stares at her bleeding hand and Alex’s bright blue eyes.

 

“Oh god,” Tobin breathes out, blinks her eyes again as she starts to tremble, “Oh my god.”

 

Alex doesn’t say anything, just stares up at her in wonderment, like she’s a stranger. 

 

It feels like she’s a stranger. 

 

“Your…” Tobin trails uncertainly, looks away pointedly, “your head. It’s bleeding,” She says, and Alex raises her hand to it immediately, pushes against her throbbing flesh. 

 

Alex sits up suddenly and Tobin skitters away from her, towards the door.

 

“Tobin, wait,” Alex says, but she doesn’t even catch the back of the girl’s head as she throws the door open.

 

“I’m sorry, Alex. I’ve got to go.”

 

\- - -

 

Time passes in a funny manner. At first Alex tries to clean up the mess, but her fatigue gets the better of her, and she wanders crying into the bathroom to look at her head. 

 

It’s just a scrape, thankfully. She runs a cloth under cold water and wipes away all traces of scarlet from her face, pushes a bandaid over it to stop the bleeding, and then wanders back and collapses on the bed closest to the window, to rest her burning legs and tearing eyes for a moment. 

 

Her moment turns to twelve hours, and when she wakes up, Tobin is nowhere to be found. She gets up and pulls the band aid off, recleans the cut and leaves it to air dry, happy to find it already crusted over.

 

She grabs her phone then, checks the time and hopes to find a call or text from Tobin, but there’s nothing but encouraging messages from her friends and family and teammates. 

 

She’s about to put her phone away and head for Lauren and Amy’s room when a certain number catches her eye.

 

_ Casey: Sorry about your loss. _

 

Alex shoots up, stares down at the phone with wide eyes, because she knows Casey isn’t talking about soccer. She shakes her head, opens her phone and types out a quick message. 

 

_ Delivered at 9:08: Have you talked to her? _

 

She only has to wait a minute for a reply to come.

 

_ Casey: No. But I know, remember? I know who she is. I know what she does. You don’t know where she is right now, do you? And you’re probably a little sore from more than just your soccer game. _

 

Alex takes a minute to process, blinks wearily down at her phone, feels hot tears prick at her eyes that she pushes away, because she’s done crying. 

 

_ Delivered at 9:10: What do I do? _

 

It takes a lot longer for a reply to come, and when it comes, it’s short. 

 

_ Casey: You run the other way. Before she makes you. _

 

Alex throws her phone down bitterly and goes back to sleep.

 

\- - -

 

Alex sleeps restlessly, has strange dreams. She feels soft hands on her forehead, on her wrists, sees warm brown eyes and pink lips, feels tanned skin pressed against her own. 

 

She thinks that someone turns her over, pulls off her sweatshirt and closes the blinds so the sun won’t shine in her face, feels someone pick her up and place her under the covers.

 

Gentle, warm fingers probe at her forehead, spike enough pain through her to cause her brow to furrow and her nose to wrinkle in distaste, and she shifts groggily, unsteadily.

 

The same fingers trail carefully across her forehead, smooth away the lines of her forehead, and something sticky presses to where it hurts most before the fingers sweep across her cheeks softly in a sweet caress. 

 

“There you go, Striker,” She thinks she hears from a low, hoarse voice, “you’re alright,” It continues, and the hand trails lower, presses above the steady beating of her heart. 

 

“I’m sorry, Alex,” It says, and then gentle lips press to her forehead, press against her mouth sweetly.

 

She dreams that Tobin comes back for her.

 

When she opens her eyes, though, she’s alone.

 

\- - -

Alex wakes up after two hours and feels a lot better. Her legs have stopped burning, and her body no longer throbs numbly.

 

She pushes off the covers that have somehow found their way onto her and and pulls on her sweatshirt that has somehow found its way off of her, and as the the hotel room is icy cold and dark, she walks over to open up the blinds and let the light in. 

 

She trips over Tobin’s perfume bottle on her way back, leans down and picks it up and sets it carefully on the bureau before walking to the bathroom.

 

The first thing she sees staring back at her in the mirror is a band aid that has somehow stuck itself to her forehead again.

 

She rips it off and throws it away before she can think too long on how it got there.

 

\- - -

 

She gives Tobin until noon, and when she still has yet to appear, sends her a hastily typed out text. 

 

_ Delivered at 12:06: Do you know where Tobin is? _

 

About five minutes later, Lauren messages her back.

 

__ _ Cheney: She said she was on her way to the rec. room to meet you? _

 

Alex doesn’t think, just stands up and heads to find her.

 

\- - -

 

It’s a surprisingly long walk to Tobin. Alex finds herself feeling like she’s moving underwater.

 

The walk gives her time to think, to contemplate their relationship. When she had left Servando for Tobin, they had talked about fixing the flaws of their relationship. Alex had considered them fixed when Tobin had continued to act like  _ her  _ Tobin, but she realizes now that  _ her _ Tobin was just a matter of circumstance, not of actual change. 

 

The wound on her forehead reminds her just how much Tobin changes due to matters of circumstance. 

 

She shakes it off, pushes it from her mind. She doesn’t count their fight last night of any real worth. They were both tired and angry and very emotional, and they’d both done their fair share of hurting. 

 

It was sort of her fault, anyways, she tells herself. She shouldn’t have pushed Tobin without expecting to be pushed back. 

 

She thinks of a better way to tell Tobin that she loves her. One not focused on her trying to repair the damage Tobin has suffered, one instead just intent on repairing the holes their relationship has developed. The word “liar” has bounced around in her head all night, and she yearns to tell Tobin that no, she’s not a liar, she loves her more than  _ anything _ .

 

More than some stupid silver medal. More than a missed penalty kick. More than her hateful grandfather, her misunderstanding family. More than Casey, more than Lauren, more than Servando. 

 

She thinks of all of Casey’s messages of warning, of their conversation, of all of Tobin’s miscommings, of the people she’s hurt, of the way she’s hurt herself and the way she’s hurt Alex. 

 

She thinks about the good stuff, too. She thinks about long nights spent under warm, careful hands, of soft lips and giggling smiles, sun kissed skin and bright, starry brown eyes. She thinks of fast plane rides and short text messages that grew long, of tired phone calls from different time zones, of airport baggage claims and hotel beds, of departure and arrival gates. She thinks of the big house in New Jersey, of the door to which only her key unlocks, of the sprawling beaches and white dogwood trees. She thinks of husked _I love you’s_ and breathless _I missed you’s_ and the way she looked at her that night under the bright olympic rings, the night _Alex and_ _Tobin_ became _You and I_.

 

She thinks of Tobin, and it’s enough.

 

   Enough to know that Casey is wrong, that  _ everyone _ is wrong, because there is a house built out of stone in New Jersey that is Tobin’s, a house that Tobin wants to share with her, a house that she wants to become _ theirs _ .

 

   A house for them to fill up with each other, with their love. Nothing can change that, some missed penalty kick can't change that, some warning from an ex-girlfriend that Tobin didn’t love enough to share her home with can’t change that.

 

   Alex turns the corner and opens the door and sees Tobin. She’s waiting, just like Lauren said she would be, in the red chair of the rec. room.

 

   Only she’s not alone.

 

   There’s a girl on her lap, a girl on her lips, with her hands in her hair and her legs on either side of Tobin. She’s kissing her, and Tobin is responding, Alex can see it by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, by her closed eyes and busy mouth. The girl shifts slightly to push her own hair out of the way, and Alex sees her.

 

   It’s Laure.

 

   Alex steps back and closes the door.

 

   Closes it like she never opened it in the first place.

 

   It closes hard.

 

\- - -

 

Alex doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t know what to think. She just understands that one minute she’s by the rec. room and the next she’s standing at Lauren’s door.

 

_ She doesn’t love her. _

 

The door swings open and Lauren’s there in a white tank top and blue sleep shorts. She yawns at her, rubs at her red rimmed eyes and inspects her carefully. 

 

“Hey Alex. Did you find her?” She questions, raising a pointed brow her way.

 

_ She doesn’t love her. _

 

Alex can’t respond, can’t even breathe. Her chest burns like it did yesterday, only the fire that lingers is a fiercer, angrier sort, destructive in a way nothing has ever been before. She feels like she’s choking.

 

She watches as Amy stirrs from her bed behind Lauren, sees her sit up with a yawn similar to the curly haired midfielder and off a wave Alex’s way. 

 

Alex doesn’t quite know how to form words. The harder she tries, the more they seem to slip away, replaced instead with bitter tears that push angrily at her eyes.

 

“Alex?” Lauren prompts gently, leans against the doorframe with a deep sigh. She doesn’t see her distress, not until the first silent tear slips down her cheek.

 

Lauren’s eyes follow it down her face with shock, and she suddenly lunges forwards, grabs her wrist in her own hand with a practiced gentleness.

 

“ _ Alex, _ ” Her voice implores, blue eyes wide, “What’s happened, honey? Where’s Tobin?” She asks, sticks her head out past her to scan the halls for the midfielder, and when she doesn’t find her she pulls Alex into her room, into her arms.

 

It’s a safe embrace, and Alex finds herself falling into it, finds her arms locking around the girl and holding tight to her.

 

“I...she...we,” Alex can’t form sentences, only chokes out half formed words and single syllables as she starts to hyperventilate. Lauren backs her up, sits her down on the bed and pulls her close, runs a soothing hand over her back.

 

“Shh, Alex, it’s okay now,” She says, but the words are blistering hot and only serve to work Alex up even more, “Just try and take some deep breaths, darling. It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

 

Alex shakes her head miserably, pushes herself away from Lauren and up the bed as the sobs start to escape her.

 

From the corner of her eye she sees Amy jump up, suddenly wide awake, and shoot a panicked glance Lauren’s way. 

 

Lauren just shrugs her shoulders helplessly, moves closer to Alex carefully.

 

“What happened Alex? You can tell us.We want to help you,” Lauren says, reaches out to take one of Alex’s hands carefully, and then squints up at her, her brows contracting, “What happened to your forehead, sweetheart?”

 

Alex raises a hand to touch the wound, flinches away when it hurts her, and at the mention and the pain starts to cry harder, with less control.

 

“She, we, them,  _ her _ ,” Alex chokes out, her breathing wild and rapid, “and then, and the room, the medal, and she,” Alex breaks off, buries her face in her hands as she weeps, “pushed, and blood, and kicked, and I told her, love her, and she, liar, and then phone, and then,” Alex’s sobs border uncontrollable as she tries to recount the events, “she kissed—.”

 

Alex cuts herself off and gives in to her tears, to the unyielding sadness, and Lauren climbs up the bed to rest beside her, to pull her into her hold.

 

“Who?” She asks as Alex falls back into her, grabbing her sweatshirt in her hand and holding tight, “Who did she kiss?” Lauren asks her softly.

 

It takes Alex a long moment to gather up enough breath to tell Lauren, to quiet her sobs enough for her voice to be audible.

 

“Laure,” She breathes out, her voice a broken whimper, and she watches as a sadness similar to her own floods Lauren’s eyes. She doesn’t let it show, though. The second Alex looks up at Lauren, her eyes are only for her, are only soft and gentle and open. 

 

Lauren pulls her close, lets her hide her face and cry into her neck, where it’s safe and dark and sweet smelling. She holds her tight, rubs her back, whispers kind words to her in an attempt to settle her.

 

It’s not an easy job, and eventually Lauren looks up at Amy, her arms still tight around Alex.

 

“Go find Tobin, Arod,” Lauren says, and her voice is hard in a way that makes Alex flinch. Lauren coos her an apology, strokes a warm hand through her hair.

 

“Find her and keep her away,” Lauren adds, her voice low. When Amy asks her why, Lauren’s hand slows in it’s path through her hair.

 

“Alex is going home.”

 

\- - -

 

Lauren waits for her cries to settle into soft whimpers, and then drags her to her feet and walks her back to her hotel room, slides Alex’s card into the slot and walks her inside. 

 

Alex watches her face as she looks around the mess of the room. Lauren keeps her face carefully composed in front of Alex, although when she spots the blood on the carpet and the medal in the wall, her eyes widen before she can stop them. 

 

Alex suddenly finds Lauren up in her face, her hand steadying her jaw, her fingers probing at the gash on her forehead.

 

Alex jerks away from her quickly, stumbles over to the bed.

 

“Did she hit you?” Lauren’s voice is scathing, disgusted, angry, and Alex whips her head back and forth quickly, tries to keep her gaze away from Lauren.

 

“No, I hit it on the bed,” She tells her too quickly, stumbling over her words, and Lauren follows her, frowns deeply.

 

“Alex. Did she hit you?”

 

Alex’s cheeks burn in embarrassment, and she shakes her head feverently, sniffles softly. 

 

“It was an accident,” She tells the carpet, refusing to meet Lauren’s eye, “She was trying to get away from me.”

 

She watches Lauren shake her head, listens as a stream of soft curse words leave her.

 

“Just...just sit down Alex. And where’s your bag?”

 

Alex does as Lauren says, sits numbly on the bed and watches as Lauren walks around, pulling her clothes out of drawers and stuffing them into her suitcase, stepping carefully over shattered pieces of the hotel lamp and other various objects strewn across the carpet. Lauren asks her very few questions, just the occasional “where’s your passport?” or “what’s your mom’s phone number so I can tell her you’re coming?”

 

Alex answers her mindlessly. The room looks different in the bright lighting of the day. The red spots on the carpet look brighter, the silver shine of the medal softer.

 

The most noticeable difference is Tobin’s absence, but Alex tries not to dwell too long on her, because with her name comes her actions, and with her actions comes blonde haired girls with blue eyes and wandering lips. 

 

Alex feels sick, and is tired of crying. The tears don’t stop on her behalf, though, nor does her stomach uncoil from the churning knot it has become. 

 

Lauren picks up her phone after a while, and it’s Amy on the phone. Alex watches with dull interest as Lauren talks, picks idly at the frayed ends of the mattress.

 

“Tell her it’s not up to you and me,” Lauren tells her, and Alex stiffens, closes her eyes tightly.

 

_ “It’s just you and me now, striker,” _ Tobin chirps happily at her. Those days seem far away, seem smaller than they used to. 

 

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Lauren says, and again her words are unwelcome.

 

_ “I thought we were supposed to trust each other?” _ Tobin accuses her from the depths of her mind. Alex tries to tell her to shut up, but it’s hard when she’s not there.

 

“It’s not a lie,” Lauren says quickly, “It’s just a slight stretch of the truth.”

 

_ “Or are you going to admit that you are a liar?” _ Tobin demands. 

 

The tears Alex sheds are suddenly thick, and her breathing is heavy once more. Lauren notices, says goodbye and hangs up the phone quickly, kneels down by her side and touches her gently. 

 

“You’re going to home tonight, Alex. I had Amy tell the coaches you had a family emergency,” Lauren tells her, and Alex finds herself panicking at the words.

 

“No,” She says quickly, her speech somewhat slurred, like she’s drunk, “I don’t want to go back with her,” She whimpers, watches as Lauren's eyes soften with pity. 

 

“California,” Lauren says quickly, “You’re going back to California,” She tells her, and Alex relaxes.

 

She’s learned to associate  _ Tobin _ and  _ home _ so closely, the words are almost synonymous. 

 

California, though, sounds okay. 

 

At the thought of Tobin and home, and Tobin’s home, Alex remembers the key. She stands quickly, moves to Lauren’s side, rummages through her bag with her until she finds the pants that hold the large blue object. She pulls it out quietly before holding it up for Lauren’s inspection. 

 

“Is that—?” Lauren asks, and Alex nods. 

 

Lauren reaches forwards hesitantly, tugs it somewhat forcefully from Alex’s hands.

 

“We’ll leave that here, if it’s all the same to you,” Lauren says, and Alex nods obediently, moves back to sit on the bed again and watches as Lauren stands and places it on Tobin’s bedside table, where she won’t miss it. 

 

“Alright then,” Lauren says, zips the bag closed and stands up, looking to Alex, “You’re all ready to go. We just need the van keys,” Lauren says, and reaches out to pull Alex up to her feet, but Alex doesn’t see it at first.

 

She’s looking at the key. 

 

Lauren’s eyes follow her stare slowly, but once she sees what Alex is looking at she pulls her to her feet, breaks her line of sight. 

 

“Don’t you worry about that, okay? Don’t you worry about her. I’ll make sure it’s all okay,” Lauren tells her, presses a light, affectionate kiss to the side of Alex’s head, “You focus on you for now,” She says, and then she grabs her bag and they both head to the door.

 

They don’t quite get out the door, though, because suddenly Amy’s voice is on the other side, and a painstakingly unfamiliar one accompanies her. 

 

They both watch with quiet dread as the door light flickers green, and then the door opens and a semi-drunk Tobin Heath stumbles in, giggling away, a cautious Amy beside her.

 

Amy’s face pales when she sees them.

 

Both parties freeze. Lauren steps forward, tightens her grip on Alex’s wrist. Alex feels hot tears building up again before she can stop them. Amy’s mouth drops open in the beginnings of some sort of explanation.

 

Tobin, to her credit, seems blissfully unaware. She only stops for a short moment, until her eyes find Alex, and the smile that splits over her face knocks the air out of Alex that she has just started to get back.

 

“Lex!” Tobin chirps happily, stumbles towards her, arms outstretched, “I missed you so much,” She says, tries to get to her, but Lauren steps in front of her, pushes Tobin back as Amy steps forwards and grabs her by the hand.

 

“Hey Tobs, it’s fine, you don’t need your wallet. It’ll be my treat, let’s just go,” Amy says quickly, tugging insistently at Tobin’s hand, but Tobin whines loudly and pulls away from her, tugs towards Alex.

 

“No,” She whines, pouting, “I wanna stay with Alex. I’m not hungry anymore,” She huffs, and with a sharp pull tugs her hand free and rubs it sorely, sends an unamused glare Amy’s way before stumbling forwards. 

 

She’s met with hard opposition from Lauren as she pushes her hand out against her chest, stopping her.

 

“I need Alex for a bit, Tobin. You and Amy go eat. We’ll be right back,” Lauren says, and Tobin gives her a puzzled, confused look, but she starts to give in and turn back to Amy.

 

Alex makes the mistake of sniffling. The instant Tobin hears her cries she stills, her head snapping around to look at her with narrowed eyes. 

 

“She’s crying!” Tobin says immediately, her voice accusatory as she glares up at Lauren, “what did you do to her?” She demands, and the happy, giggling girl from before is gone as she stares Lauren down, her eyes black, “let me through,” She insists.

 

Lauren doesn’t move, and Alex watches Tobin as she grows visibly frustrated.

 

“ _ I _ didn’t make her cry, Tobin. Now go with Amy. I’ll be there soon,” Lauren tells her, and her voice is hard, unyielding, and Alex feels the ice even from behind her. It doesn’t make Tobin recoil though, it only makes her angrier, only panics her further. 

 

“I’m not going anywhere!” She practically shouts, “I’m staying right here,” She says, and she sticks her chest out, squares her shoulder, sets her jaws and  _ dares _ Lauren to make her move. 

 

The problem occurs when Lauren still remains fixed in front of her, unmoving, and Alex watches Tobin coil up righter, watches her hands clench to fists, and it’s just  _ too much _ .

 

She steps back from them, into the light of the room, looks between Lauren and Tobin.

 

“It’s okay Cheney,” She says, even though she knows it’s not, “Let her through,” She says.

 

The look Lauren gives her is something akin to  _ hell no _ , but the distraction is enough for Tobin to slide past and race to Alex. She scoops her up like she always does, coos sweetly to her, nestles her into her embrace and tucks her securely into her neck. 

 

Her arms are warm and safe and perfect, everything Alex wants.

 

But Casey was right.

 

It’s not enough to just be what someone wants. 

 

Alex  _ needs _ Tobin, but Tobin doesn’t  _ need _ her. 

 

And that’s just not enough. It’s not what she deserves. And it absolutely and completely breaks her heart. 

 

“I was thinking about us last night, you know,” Tobin hums into her ear from where she holds her, the noise happy and content, “And I realized you’re right. It doesn’t matter that we lost. Cause I’ve still got you, don’t I, Lex?” Tobin asks her sweetly, and it’s enough to push her back into tears. 

 

Tobin’s eyes soften and she reaches out immediately to brush them away. Her fingers linger for a long moment over the mark on her forehead, and her brows crinkle down in sadness.

 

“And I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tobin tells her.

 

Alex feels a lot of the fight leave her then. It’d be easy to take her apology, to forget about the other girl she was kissing. But Alex is done with easy, because it’s simply been far too  _ hard _ .

 

She wraps her arms back around Tobin though, brushes her nose against the top of her sweatshirt and breathes in her soft smell, the one that has become such a comfort to her. She lets her hand run down Tobin’s arm until it finds her own hand, and she holds it up to see a clean white bandage wrapped around it and smiles softly.

 

“I know you didn’t, Toby. I know you didn’t,” She says, closes her eyes tightly as a few stray tears leave her.

 

“And I’m sorry I left. I’m going to stay right here from now on, I promise,” Tobin tells her, moves her hands lower as she pulls back and places a soft kiss on her lips.

 

Alex has forgotten just how clingy drunk Tobin is, and it doesn’t make anything easier.

 

She holds onto the kiss even when her brain tells her not to, because it’s going to be her last, and if she doesn’t hold onto  _ something _ she doesn’t think she can let Tobin go. 

 

“Actually,” She says through tearing eyes as Tobin pulls away, “I’m the one who has to go away this time,” She whispers, and watches as the brown of Tobin’s glossed over doe eyes light up in the softest confusion.

 

“Go?” Tobin laughs, follows one of her tears down her face, “Go where?” She questions.

 

“Home,” Alex says gentle, though the words feel sharp as they leave her tongue, sharp as Tobin tilts her head.

 

“We’re not going back to Jersey for another week,” Tobin hiccups, and Alex can’t really help the small smile that forms across her lips.

 

It lights up Tobin too, makes her face shine bright as she grins at her, giggles softly. 

 

She stops laughing though when Alex’s smile becomes a soft sob.

 

“Why are you crying, Lex?” She asks, and her voice is a whisper. She grows more adamant when Alex doesn’t respond right away, grows more panicked. Her fingers trace soft, soothing shapes into her back as she tries to calm her down, “I mean, maybe we can go home sooner!” She says brightly, nudges her nose against Alex’s, “Would that make you happy? I can talk to Dawn. I’ll talk to anyone,” She tells her, nods her head frantically, searches desperately for a smile that Alex can’t give her.

 

Alex sniffles, shakes her head softly. 

 

“I don’t—I’m not going back to Jersey, Tobin,” Alex tells her with as much patience as she can muster, “I’m going somewhere you haven’t been before,” She says, watches with a soft dread as Tobin pulls away and her lips purse. 

 

“Well then I want to come,” She says, steps away from her and starts looking—stumbling—around for her bag. 

 

She won’t find it, Alex knows. She’s too drunk to remember that she kicked it under Alex’s bed in her rage the night before. Alex lets her search anyways, because it’s easier having her far away than close by. Her eyes track her dutifully, taking in her movements, because pretty soon she’ll be without them. 

 

“You can’t come with me this time, Tobin,” She tells her, steps back as Tobin whirls around and crosses her arms and huffs, like Alex has told her she can’t eat  _ another _ cheeseburger for dinner because she’s already had one for lunch. 

 

“Why wouldn’t I come with you, Alex?” She inquires, unimpressed with the statement, and when Alex can’t give her an answer and Lauren steps forwards, her gaze suddenly shifts to her.

 

“Did you tell her I couldn’t come?” Tobin demands, suddenly angry as she crosses the room to stand before Lauren. Alex reaches out to stop her, but isn’t quick enough.

 

Lauren’s face remains expressionless even as Tobin’s becomes one of displeasure.

 

“You can’t just take her with you!” Tobin suddenly shouts, her voice louder than it’s been the entire time, and while Alex recoils from them, Lauren doesn’t even flinch.

 

“She can’t stay here Tobin,” Lauren says, impassive, and her eyes look up to Alex, gesture for her to head to the door, but Alex doesn’t move, finds herself turned to stone in the wake of Tobin’s anger.

 

“Yes she can,” Tobin insists, crossing her arms, “Of course she can. She’s  _ mine _ , Cheney. You don’t just get to take her away, not without me,” Tobin asserts, head high and shoulder squared, defensive again. 

 

Lauren just shakes her head, a sadness about her stance, about her eyes.

 

“Oh Tobin,” She says, lets out a long breath, “Alex doesn’t belong to  _ anybody _ . She never has,” Lauren tells her, but Tobin is shaking her head before the words even leave her mouth, unimpressed.

 

“No, you’re wrong,” Tobin says immediately, unphased, “She said it. She  _ told _ me. She’s mine, and you can’t just take her,” She repeats, and to Alex’s horror, her lip starts to tremble as she grows more and more upset.

 

Amy steps forwards again, much more hesitant, lays a cautious hand on Tobin’s shoulder that she throws off as soon as it lands.

 

“Come on, Tobs. Let’s just go, okay? You told me you were hungry,” Amy reminds her, but Tobin seems surprisingly unmotivated by her stomach at the moment. 

 

“I’m not going anywhere without Alex,” She says, and her breathing starts to stagger as she begins to cry. She turns around quickly, stumbles back over to Alex, grabs at her hand insistently.

 

“Alex tell them,” She whimpers, pushes needily against her body, “Tell them you’re not leaving me,” She says, blinks tired eyes up at her as she pouts, and Alex can’t help it at that point; she reaches out and pulls Tobin close, ignoring the look she gets from Lauren. 

 

Tobin clings to her the second she opens her arms back up to her, hums happily as she settles, still sniffling occasionally, her nose tucking down into the fold of her sweatshirt. 

 

There’s a soft, happy breath that whooshes out of her as she sighs, and Alex feels her eyes flutter closed against her neck. 

 

“Let’s get you to bed, Toby,” Alex tells her gently, nudges her softly until Tobin jolts and nudges her back, the tip of her nose crinkling up with her smile as she gives Alex a rather playful look.

 

“That tickles,” She sniffs, rubs at her nose as she looks between the bed and Alex, “And you’ll stay right? If I sleep?” She asks her, and Alex hesitates briefly, looks into the bright suns of her eyes and forces her lips up into a smile.

 

“Yeah, sure,” She tells her stiffly, nods once, “I can stay for a little while,” She allows, and then watches as Tobin hops about, shedding her pants and sweatshirt rather quickly. She flops down on the bed with a yawn, pats the spot beside her for Alex to lay in, but Alex stays sitting on the top of the covers instead, and Tobin, in her intoxicated state, settles for simply holding her hand.

 

Tobin’s about to close her eyes when she suddenly sits bolt upright, and the confusion is back in her eyes. She reaches over onto her bedside table and— _ shit _ .

 

“You don’t have your key?” Tobin asks, holding it up in a flash of bright blue, “Why don’t you have your key? How are you going to get back home to me?” Tobin demands, and Alex shifts uncertainly at the clear accusation in her tone. It softens in a moment to a simple reprimand as Tobin smiles gently at the look that passes over Alex’s face.

 

“It’s okay, you didn’t leave yet,” Tobin reminds her sweetly, holds the key out to her, “You can still take it,” She says, and Alex tries hard to stop her crying, but it’s just so  _ hard. _

 

“Actually, I’m going to need you to hang on to it for a little while for me,” She tells her, keeps her eyes down so she doesn’t have to look at her face, “I won’t have any use for it where I’m going.”

 

Tobin demands her attention regardless. 

 

“Well then you’re obviously going to the wrong place,” Tobin insists, her head suddenly hot, and she pushes the key at her more firmly, “Just take it,” She says, but Alex shakes her head, folds Tobin’s fingers over it carefully, presses them into her palm.

 

“I can’t, Tobin,” She says softly.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I just can’t!”

 

The explosion catches them both off guard, and Tobin shifts suspiciously, narrows her eyes as she inspects her closely. 

 

“You’re not coming back, are you?” Tobin asks, and for the first time she doesn’t sound angry. 

 

Alex takes it as a chance to tell her the truth. 

 

“No,” She says gently, sadly, “No, I’m not.”

 

At first Tobin doesn’t react to the news. Then, slowly, the hurt comes, first in the subtle twitch of her lips, then in the moisture of her eyes. Her hand tightens around Alex’s. 

 

“Is it because—” She hiccups softly as a few tears make their way down her cheeks.

 

Alex stops her before she can finish.

 

“No Tobin. It’s just,” She trails uncertainly, looks for the right words, “We just need different things, that’s all.”

 

Her words don’t help. The trembling of her bottom lip becomes more pronounced.

 

“I don’t want something different,” She says miserably, “I just want you, Alex.”

 

Alex doesn’t have a choice in the matter after that. She leans down and kisses her, ignoring the wetness, ignoring the shaking, just presses her mouth to hers and tries to imagine a world where their wants could replace their needs, where their wants would be enough.

 

This isn’t one of those worlds, though, and because of it Alex pulls away, and because of it Tobin lets her go. 

 

“Bye Tobin,” She tells her, brushes her knuckles over her cheek.

 

At first she doesn’t think she’ll get a response. Tobin rolls over and tucks herself into the covers, hides her face from Alex, and Alex stands up shakily, makes her way over to Lauren. 

 

Before they can leave, though, Tobin raises her head, seeks her out, mumbles something broken and choked out that Alex can’t at first understand.

 

“What?” Alex asks, moves closer, ignores Lauren’s carefully placed hand.

 

Tobin’s eyes meet hers.

 

“I love you too.”

 

\- - -

 

Alex pretends not to hear Tobin’s cries as they leave the hotel room, and pretends not to hear her own as Lauren drives her to the airport. 

 

It’s a quick goodbye—Lauren’s anxious to get her as far away as possible. 

 

“Your mom will pick you up. Call me when you get there. I’ll see you real soon,” Lauren tells her, pulls her in for a quick hug.

 

Alex hugs her back numbly, stiffly, only relaxing when Lauren kisses her forehead, smiles at her gentle. 

 

“Don’t worry about her,” She reminds her, “And take good care of yourself for me, okay?” She asks, and Alex nods, smiles softly at her.

 

“Thank you Cheney. For everything.”

 

Lauren’s smile only saddens for a moment, then perks right back up.

 

“Of course. Love you Al,” She tells her, pats her on the arm, and Alex feels okay for a little bit.

 

The plane is cold without Tobin though, and dark.

 

She watches alone as the lights of Germany fade into the cloud cover.

 

\- - -

 

It’s a rough three weeks that she spends in California. She doesn’t stay with her family long. They’re blissfully unaware of her relationship to Tobin, and associate her sadness to losing the World Cup. 

 

There is a lot of  _ it’s okays _ said, and it’s not what Alex wants to hear. 

 

She spends a lot of her time looking down at her phone, hoping for something, anything from Tobin. Lauren told her she deleted the number from both of their phones, though, so Alex isn’t really sure what she’s looking for. 

 

She heads up to stay with one of her friends from Cal after the third week. It’s a welcome change to talk about things that aren’t soccer and Tobin, a change that Alex fully intends to immerse herself in.

 

They eat a lot of fast food, go to a lot of parties, and do a lot of drinking, and the combination of the three things helps severely in easing the heartache. 

 

Every night though, when she stumbles in drunk and giddy, there is an empty bed waiting for her that puts a lump in her throat. 

 

She settles for hugging one of the pillows and kidding herself into believing that there’s no difference, that the soft, cold cotton is a perfect substitute for the hot, sun kissed, firm arms that Alex has gotten so used to holding her. 

 

After the third week, she stops crying herself to sleep so much. 

 

She considers it a major milestone.

 

It’s also after the third week that she finds herself at yet another party, this one at a club she swears she’s been to before. 

 

She’s sitting with an impressive collection of fruity drinks around her when someone slides into the seat beside her, and she rolls her eyes as she turns and prepares to tell yet  _ another _ dumb frat boy that she’s just not interested. 

 

It’s not a frat boy she finds herself looking at. 

 

Servando Carrasco smiles boyishly up at her, brown eyes warm and inviting, light in the best of ways, and Alex finds herself somewhat shell shocked. 

 

She realizes then that her life is obviously just one big circle that will probably never stop spinning. 

 

That doesn’t mean she isn’t elated to see Servando, of course, doesn’t mean a smile doesn’t light up her face the moment she recognizes him. 

 

“Hey there, Alex,” He says brightly, reaches out and grabs one of her drinks and takes a sip, winces at the taste that is far too sweet, “You look like you could use a friend.”

 

Alex doesn’t know what she looks like, or what she could use, but if friendship is what Servando is offering, she’s willing to take it. 

 

“Depends who’s offering,” Alex tells him calmly, with a practiced patience as she downs the rest of her appletini. 

 

He smiles wide at her words, sends a wink her way, and after a moment, Alex smiles right back. 

 

Servando stops for a moment then, looks around the crowded room and then back to her.

 

“You want to get out of here?” He asks her then, stands up just as quickly as he sat down, extends his hand out for her to take.

 

Alex watches him carefully, studies the nature of his face, the kindness in his eyes and the relaxation in his posture.

 

“Where did you have in mind?” She asks him slowly, tilts her head, blinks blue eyes up at him.

 

Servando’s grin is a wide one. 

 

“Anywhere,” He tells her boldly.

 

She takes his hand, feels its warmth as it closes over hers and knows it’s enough.

 

\- - -

 

She doesn’t think of Tobin again for a long time, but when she does it’s two months later, and it’s because of the draft. 

 

She’d forgotten about such unpleasantries in the wake of a warm summer with Servando, one spent out on the beach, a board pressed against her stomach and the waves over her head. It’d been the break from reality that she had needed.

 

Servando proves to be just a good a friend the second time around. He doesn’t push anything, just lets them go with the flow. The first week is Alex getting comfortable around him again, and by the second she’s living with him in the tiny apartment he shares with two other people, sleeping in his bed—as a matter of  _ space _ , she tells herself firmly—because it takes too much time and gas for him to drive twenty minutes into the city to get her. 

 

He lets her talk when she wants to talk, listens closely to what she has to say, and when she doesn’t want to talk or think, he fills their time with other more exciting activities, so she doesn’t have to. 

 

He’s good to her in the exact ways he shouldn’t be, because she  _ left _ him, doesn’t deserve anything he has to give her.

 

He rolls his eyes at her when she tells him this one day, when they’re out walking along the pier, melting vanilla ice cream cones making their hands sticky. 

 

“You’re silly,” He tells her simply, watches with amusement as a divot forms across her brows, confused,and she looks at him searchingly, imploring him to continue. 

 

“It’s not about what people  _ deserve _ , Al,” He tells her, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “It’s about what people want,” He says, and shrugs his shoulders, takes a long lick from the top of his cone.

 

Alex feels awful the rest of the rest of that day, and she doesn’t bring up things like  _ wanting _ and  _ deserving _ again.

 

It leaves her too much to ponder over, has her staring down at her phone for too many minutes during the late hours of the night.

 

The conversation is a gateway back into old rhythm’s though, and soon Servando knows everything.

 

He holds her when she cries, after that, pulls her as close as his tiny bed allows—which is pretty close, if Alex is being completely honest—and tries to give her what comfort he can.

 

It gets Alex’s heart beating in the best of ways. 

 

Things creep along happily for them, beautifully paced and without pressure, until the summer ends and all of Alex’s responsibilities come back to her all at once.

 

The first of these is the draft. 

 

She spends the entire day of the draft dragging her feet around the apartment, moaning unhappily about her soon to be life with the Western New York Flash. Servando just watches her with amused eyes, listens to her whine and complain as the announcement draws closer. 

 

“It’s not like you’ll be on her team,” He reminds her as the stomps past his room for the fourth time, making yet another coffee run from the living room to the kitchen, “You won’t even have to see her except for the times you play her, and even then it’s not like you’ll have to talk to her,” He says, and Alex sighs deeply and sulks into his room, launches herself onto his bed and lands squarely on top of him, much to his displeasure. 

 

She simply giggles at his discomfort, nuzzles into his chest as her fingers hook onto his sweatshirt.

 

“You don’t understaaaaaand,” She drawls, pushing herself up by her elbow, which rests  _ very _ uncomfortably in his stomach, “I never  _ intended _ to talk to Tobin Heath, it just  _ happened _ ,” She says, and sighs deeply, rolls off him a little bit as he starts to tickle at her sides. 

 

“I’m going to get pulled to freezing cold New York, and there will be nothing to do but have awkward make out sessions with her. It’s like, a law of the universe or something,” Alex says with big eyes, and Servando laughs at her, pokes more insistently at her sides until she whines and bats him away.

 

“A law of the universe?” He teases her, and she slinks off the bed with a sigh and straightens up.

 

“You tease me now, but you don’t know even know, Serv,” She tells him, and pads back out to the living room, reaching down and pulling one of his sweatshirts over her head—just to ward off the cold. 

 

He follows her after a moment, sits on the couch next to her and rests an arm around her shoulders as they watch the TV, allows for her to lean into him, to rest her head on his shoulder and tuck her feet up under his legs.

 

He jumps when the iciness of her toes touch him, and he leans down with a laugh, covers the tops of her feets with his big hands. 

 

“God, you’re freezing, Al,” He tells her, ignoring her as she squirms to try and free her suddenly trapped toes, “How do you deal with them so cold?” He asks her.

 

“I’ve got an icy heart,” She dead pans, and grins when he turns and smirks at her.

 

“I believe it,” He says immediately, squeezes the top of her foot before letting it go, and suddenly he’s  _ very _ close, and his eyes are moving down to her lips. 

 

She swears he’s about to close the gap between him when the TV interrupts them.

 

“And in the first round of the 2011 WPS draft, the Western New York Flash selects Alex Morgan,” The man reads clearly, smiles widely. 

 

Alex shoots Servando a triumphant look, points at the screen.

 

“See?” She asks with a soft smile, even though she feels her heart sinking.

 

“Law of the universe.”

 

\- End of Part Eight -


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stays away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. Hopefully I'll be able to get the next part of this series out really fast to you guys.   
> As always, enjoy.

It's a bitterly hot summer. That's what Alex remembers. 

 

Servando does his best to keep her warm beside him, and Alex does her best to pretend it works. 

 

It's not a bad summer. They play a lot of soccer, eat a lot of good food, meet a lot of new people. 

 

They go dancing a lot. Servando wraps her up in his arms, and everything disappears in a blur of dark loud rooms and bright neon flashing lights. The club always turns the bass up too high, and it rocks through Alex hard, sits heavy on her as it shakes the walls of the room and the walls of her frantic, beating heart. 

 

Servando presses close to her, trails soft kisses up the outside of her neck, just below her ear, grips tighter to her waist when she pushes against him, when she turns her face up to his and kisses him strongly, quickly. 

 

“Are you okay?” He always asks, his eyes dangerously approaching a shade of brown Alex can't stomach, and she always turns away from him quickly, places her hands over his and holds them firmly against her skin. 

 

“Why wouldn't I be?” She asks no one, and as usual, no one answers back. Servando never hears her, and he never asks again, and the nights blend together in one eternal black wandering mess spent on the wrong coast in the wrong arms with the wrong name on her lips. 

 

It's strange, because it shouldn't be this way. The west coast has always been her home, and since she was a little girl she's been looking for a boy like Servando Carrasco to sweep into her life and sweep her off her feet. 

 

Some stupid, lying, cheating girl from the east shouldn't be able to change that. 

 

But she has. 

 

The west feels humid, strange, foreign. She knows the rhythms of the life there, the patterns and routines and hobbies that Pacific people have. And yet she finds herself dreaming for cold, dark blue water, for towering skyscrapers and giant sprawling cities and a large house with larger windows and white trees that drop petals of snow onto sweet summer grass. 

 

Her solution is to bury her wants in a large amount of alcohol. Servando is a willing partner, and the two spend late nights that turn to early mornings on the beach, talking and trying to drink the other under the table. 

 

It's these times that Servando ends up with her hand in his, with his eyes watching her with the same adoration she gives towards the rising sun of the east. 

 

“I'm going to fall in love with you,” he tells her, almost in defeat, his hair crusted from the salt of the sea and his cheeks red from the sun and from his drink. 

 

“Good,” Alex tells him, but she watches his face carefully, because his expression is one of remorse. 

 

“You're going to keep falling in love with her,” he tells her somberly, and Alex feels a great, desperate, strangled cry build up in her throat, one that she reverently pushes back down. 

 

“No,” she says, her voice breaking like the waves against the shore, “I'll never,” she promises, and she presses her face into his shirt and holds onto him, bats tired lashes against his cheek and breathes in the soft smell of orange and spice. 

 

He doesn't hold her with the same desperation. It's reserved, careful, like she's the greatest treasure he's ever held, and he's terrified of holding her too tightly in case she shatters, or setting her down and returning to find her stolen. 

 

“I'm going to fall in love with you,” he repeats again, into the darkness of her hair, miserable. 

 

She kisses him then, until he might be able to believe that she could fall in love with him too. 

 

\---

 

He makes it better. 

 

There’s times when Alex feels incomprehensibly alone, and abandoned, and worthless, and he makes her feel differently.

 

Most of the time she holds tight to him and cries, her salted tears ruining the collars of his shirts. He never seems to mind, and her apologizes tend to fall upon deaf ears. 

 

“Why hasn’t she called me?” She whimpers one night from the corner of his neck, seated comfortably in his lap. He strokes gentle patterns down her arm, careful and precise. 

 

He usually doesn't answer her. She's rarely looking for an answer, and this, right now, isn't one of those times. 

 

“Why did she kiss her?” Alex continues, her tone biting, her nose tucking into his shirt, “why did she—.” She catches Servando's expression and quiets for a moment, takes a deep shuddering breath and sniffles softly. 

 

His eyes are brighter in the dark. She follows the chocolate swirl of his iris studiously, like she has to Tobin so many times, taking them in for all that they are. 

 

“Why didn't she love me?” 

 

Servando's eyes darken considerably. Alex shrinks slightly, but doesn't move away when he draws her closer, so that the dull thud of his heart can be felt clearly against her back. 

 

There’s a slow ache between them, a sick burning that they've been putting off since they first met. A pair of honey eyes had once kept them apart, but Alex has long since lost sight of them. There’s nothing left to keep the distance between them, and she feels it in the nervous breaths he takes. 

 

“Alex,” he says with a reverence, a caution as his hands touch lightly against smooth skin, and Alex’s breath hitches as well.

 

Her stomach tightens at the sound of her name, at the way it slips off his tongue and calls her impossibly closer, in a way she’s only ever truly been with one other person, with one other girl, with Tobin. 

 

“I would call you,” He starts, his hands holding her lightly by the jaw, carefully angling it up to give him access to the soft, untouched skin of her throat, and Alex finds her eyes closing, finds her own fingers wrapping up in the shoulders of his shirt and pulling closer.

 

“I would never hurt you,” He continues, and his lips trail lower, to the hollow of her throat, then down further, to her collarbones, and Alex’s breath comes faster and shorter the longer his mouth remains in contact with her.

 

He pulls back suddenly, her face still cradled carefully in his hands, to stroke his thumb softly across her eyelids, until they open and she finds herself looking back into dark eyes.

 

“I would love you, Alex,” He says then, voice steady and unwavering, constant, tangible, and she believes him with all she is. 

 

She knows Servando. She knows him to be everything she’s ever needed. Someone careful with her, gentle, supportive, who wants the same things as her, at the same time, in the same way. Most people spend their entire lives looking for such perfect completion, and most never find it. Alex has it now, has his hands on her skin and his eyes on her face and his heart, beating steadily in his chest against her palm, yearning for her to take as her own. 

 

Alex takes a deep breath and knows that, had she met him first, back when she was young and scared and twenty-one, it wouldn’t even be a question of falling in love with him. She would have gone willingly, recklessly, with complete abandon, into his arms and into his life. 

 

And admittedly, she still wants to now. Nothing’s changed in that respect.

 

What’s changed is that his hands aren’t the right ones anymore. They touch against her and it’s startling. They’re larger, harder, shaped differently than the ones she knows. His lips are wider and fill more space, and his body is firm, solid, but not in any way that Alex has learned to know. His eyes are gentle and brown, but in the wrong way. 

 

What’s changed is that he wasn’t the one she found when she was young and scared and twenty-one. He wasn’t the one who flooded her thoughts with city lights and late night flights, with burning orange olympic rings, with giant houses on the east coast, with soft lips and smaller hands, content to roam as wildly as to whom they belong.

 

What’s changed is that Alex loves Tobin. Painfully and imperfectly, but entirely and completely, and any suggestion otherwise has her feelings bundling themselves together within her chest as a big, hard, uncomfortable reminder that Servando will never be able to fill the unattended space she has left within her. 

 

It leaves Alex with two options. Either she falls out of love with Tobin and forgets her and them for all they have ever been, or she forgives Tobin, forgives her for all she has ever been and all she will ever be, no matter what that might mean.

 

Alex has taken a lot of risks before, but they have always involved a soccer ball. This time it involves her heart, and she finds herself surprisingly unwilling to gamble it on a girl who has given her nothing but heartache from the very start.

 

And so, when Servando pulls her closer, when his hands grow more wandering, when they pull at her clothes insistently, because he’s been waiting and wanting for so long, she lets him. 

 

She lets him pull her back down to him and attempt to wash away the burning marks Tobin has left behind on her. 

 

It doesn’t work. 

 

She lets him keep trying. 

 

\---

 

It’s a late August night when Alex breaks down again. She and Servando have just come back from a wonderful beach day, and they both smell like the ocean, and there’s still salt on her skin that makes Servando’s nose crinkle adorably when he tries to kiss it away.

 

They’re both still covered in sand, and Alex’s drenched swimsuit has bled through the clothes she had thrown on for the walk home, leaving her now wet and uncomfortable, and Servando is quick to pull her shirt over her head, to reach for the buttons of her shorts before leaning closer to kiss her sweetly, the freshness of sea water still fixed in his breath.

 

“Do you want to—.” Servando’s cut off as he reaches for the strings of her bikini top and she presses closer to him, pulling him back down for another kiss before breaking away, lips lifted in a smile.

 

“Yeah,” She says in return, before quickly stepping out of his arms and stopping him when he attempts to follow her, “Just let me use the bathroom really quick. I need to get some of this sand off,” She tells him, and he nods and returns her smile sweetly, strokes a hand over her jaw before releasing her completely. 

 

“Sure thing. I’ll be waiting,” He responds, a soft twinkling in his eyes, and then he turns and walks towards the bedroom, tossing his own shirt as he goes. 

 

Alex barely makes it into the bathroom before she falls apart. 

 

It’s bizarre, how certain things make her miss Tobin so terribly. She’s been to the beach hundreds of times with Servando over the course of the summer, but there was something about the way he held her hand as they walked along the watery edge of the coast, something about the way the ocean had crashed in over the sand and the way the clouds had been firm and grey against the morning sky that had set Alex off.

 

Tears just as salty as the sea water make their way down her face as she throws her phone onto the bathroom counter and tries, for yet another countless time, to remember the digits of Tobin’s phone number. 

 

Lauren still won’t tell her anything, and while she could always call a teammate, there’s no reason to explain how and why she doesn’t have access to Tobin anymore. 

 

Well, there is a reason. But it’s long and harsh and painful. And so Alex simply stares at the blackness of her screen like she used to so long ago and tries to think. She knows there’s a one, and a seven, and a three, and an eight, but she doesn’t know in which order they appear, and she doesn’t know the remaining digits either. 

 

It’s eternally frustrating, and it makes the tears come harder, faster. 

 

It’s fun to pretend like she doesn’t miss Tobin.

 

These moments remind her of just how lost she really is. 

 

Eventually, like always, she settles for calling Lauren. The conversations are always very brief, with Alex begging for something, anything, and Lauren profusely apologizing and eventually hanging up when Alex’s desperation slips towards anger. 

 

She still calls her though, because not doing so is an admission of its own into the fact that Tobin hurt her, left her, and seems just fine from doing so. 

 

The phone rings about five times, and then a very sleepy, out of it, thick and scratchy voice picks up on the other end. 

 

“Cheney’s phone,” it says, and it just about stops Alex’s heart, because she knows exactly who that is. 

 

There’s a long pause on the other end, and the person yawns loudly.

 

Alex can picture her stretching. 

 

“Hello? Anyone there?” It continues, and Alex swallows heavily, moves the phone closer to her ear.

 

“Tobin?”

 

She doesn’t mean for her voice to be so watery and sad, but it is. 

 

There’s a sharp inhalation on the other line, and Alex knows that if she wasn’t before, Tobin is wide awake now. 

 

“Hold on,” her voice is stiff, firm, unyielding, “I’ll go get Cheney for you.”

 

“No, Tobin wait—.”

 

The sound of her breathing moves away, and then there’s just footsteps, a knock on the door, a brief exchange of conversation that Alex can’t quite make out. 

 

“Alex?” The voice that fills the phone now is Lauren’s, and Alex can’t help how quickly she deflates.

 

She takes a minute to gather herself, to stop the frantic breaths now escaping her, because she was  _ so close, damnit.  _

 

“Please put her back on,” She says, and her voice is small, “She doesn’t even have to say anything,” She continues, and her voice quivers, dangerously close to breaking, “Just please put her back on.”

 

She hears Lauren take a deep breath, hears the pity in her voice before she even says anything.

 

“Oh Alex,” Lauren whispers into the phone, “Al, I can’t.”

 

Alex is shaking her head before she’s finished, despite the fact that she can’t even see her.

 

“Yes you can. It’s easy. Just  _ give her the phone,  _ Cheney. Please.”

 

There’s more silence, a long pause of hesitation.

 

“She’s not ready to talk to you,” Lauren says, shortly this time, and Alex finds herself reeling without meaning to. 

 

“ _She’s_ not ready?” Alex asks, laughing slightly through her tears, bitter, “ _She_ isn’t ready to talk to _me_?” Alex demands, snapping, “Cheney. Are you—are you _fucking_ _kidding me_?”

 

There’s the sound of fading footsteps, a soft sigh that leaves Lauren’s mouth.

 

“I’m sorry, Alex. I really am.”

 

The line goes silent, and Servando calls her curiously from the room over.

 

She sets her phone back down, wipes at her tears, and heads back out to him. 

 

The numbers one, seven, three, and eight stay in her mind, rattling around without distraction, even for a moment. 

 

\---

 

There’s a national team camp in the beginning of September that sneaks up on Alex quicker than she could imagine. Where she’s usually excited to return to soccer, she finds herself filled with apprehension at the thought of seeing Tobin again, something Servando eagerly reflects back at her, which for reasons Alex can’t quite place, annoys her. 

 

“I don’t want her around you,” He tells her the night before her slight, when she’s just about knocked out against his shoulder, some awful rom-com playing on the TV in front of them, and it  wakes her from her slumber as she sits up sleepily and rubs at her eyes to look at him.

 

“What?” She asks, and her confusion only increases when she finds his jaw squared unhappily, his eyes black and unforgiving. 

 

“Tobin,” He practically spits, and Alex sits up even straighter, shock quickly flooding through her.

 

While she’s never thought Servando to like her, he’s never openly hated her in front of Alex, and for reasons she can’t explain, it rubs her the complete wrong way. 

 

“I can handle it,” She tells him quickly, reaching out a hand to rest reassuringly on his forearm, but he shakes her off and shakes his head firmly, his jaw still tightly locked, angry. 

 

“Can you?” He demands, and it’s direct and confrontational, and Alex shrinks away from him as he turns his dark eyes on her, “That’s what you said the last time, and if I remember correctly, that resulted in her fucking you two floors down from where I was sleeping.”

 

Alex doesn’t know what to make of him as he snaps at her. They’ve never fully discussed the events of that night at Amy’s wedding, or the way they left things. They had just kind of picked up where they had left off, and Alex had considered it forgotten.

 

Clearly, Servando has remembered everything. 

 

When Alex remains speechless, Servando’s gaze softens, and he lowers his head in what resembles shame, rubs a tired hand across his face. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s just, she’s in your head, Alex. She’s in your head and she knows how to twist things in her favor, and I—” He cuts off unsteadily, takes a deeper breath, “I just don’t want to lose you.”

 

Alex moves carefully back towards him, and settles gently into his lap, wraps her arms around his neck and pushes her face into his throat, where he smells strongest of himself, and breathes him in deeply, presses a soft, quick kiss there. 

 

“You’re not going to lose me. I know it’s hard, but you have to trust me,” She says, and he nods his head and collects her against him and sighs lightly into her hair, tickling her with his breath as he does.

 

“I do trust you,” He tells her honestly, his hands running soft patterns over her thighs, “I don’t trust  _ her _ . She took you away from me once and I—.”

 

Alex cuts him off with a long kiss, and he settles against her with little complaint. When they come apart she strokes a careful hand over his jaw, looks him in the eyes with assurance.

 

“It wasn’t just her, you know,” She allows carefully, and when confusion fills his gaze, she elaborates, “She didn’t take me away from you, Servando. I went willingly.”

 

It’s not the comfort he needs, but she feels as if he has to know. 

 

“I mean, she definitely made her moves but Serv—” She hesitates, because the last thing she want is to hurt him. It’s the truth, though, and if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that the truth is always best, “I let her. I wanted her. And I went with her, all on my own accord. It takes two, and there were definitely two of us involved.”

 

There’s a long period of silence, of Servando holding her close, of his grip increasing, of his breathing shortening.

 

“I hate her,” He says flatly after a minute, his hold on her still tight, “I hate her so much.”

 

Alex doesn’t say anything. A part of her wishes she could repeat the words back to him, but she knows it would be a lie.

 

Try as she might, no matter the period of time or the amount of unsavory actions, Alex continues to find herself drawing one conclusion. 

 

She doesn’t hate Tobin Heath. 

 

\---

 

The camp is especially rough right from the start, and because fate must truly enjoy Alex’s pain, the two meet at the baggage claim again. 

 

Tobin looks good. Alex doesn’t know why this surprises her, but it does. 

 

It’s not like she expects Tobin to appear in shambles when she arrives, but she expects something besides the usual tan skinned, bright eyed, calm moving girl that waltzes by her without so much as a “hello” to snatch her bag up from the carousel and continue on her way towards the vans that will be picking them up. 

 

For reasons Alex can’t quite explain, the lack of contact doesn’t do anything to ease the weight on her chest. If anything, it worsens it, makes it harder and less movable as she waits in silence, alone, for her bag to show up.

 

Hers is the last of the luggage to appear, and when she finally stumbles out a half hour later to where the vans are, there’s only one left, and only Becky is there. She gives Alex a wide smile and a wave as they both climb into the back of the vehicle. 

 

“You just missed Tobin,” Becky says as she settles in beside her, and Alex tries not to flinch too hard as she gives Becky a tight smile.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. I’m sure she would have waited if she’d known you were right behind her,” Becky continues, and Alex just tries to bear and grin her way through the interaction as they close the doors and the van heads towards the camp.

 

“Yeah. I’m sure she would have.”

 

\---

 

They arrive just in time for team dinner and Alex settles down at Sydney’s side. She has Abby and Megan in addition for company, and Hope after she stumbles down to join them. She tries to keep her eyes to herself, but it’s hard when less than five tables away Tobin is sitting and laughing with Lauren and Amy and Kelley like nothing has happened, like there isn’t an empty chair at her side that Alex should be occupying. 

 

She’s not the only one who takes notice. Abby shoots her one look once she sees her seated by Sydney and cocks a confused eyebrow. 

 

“What happened to the dream team?” She asks, and when Alex can’t find the words to answer, plops herself down across from her and gestures kindly towards Tobin, “How did Syd finally manage to rip you away from Heath?”

 

Sydney comes to her rescue when she remains quiet. She doesn’t know anything about her and Tobin—no one on the team does, really, except for Lauren and Amy and Kelley—but she knows enough about Alex to be able to understand when she’s uncomfortable.

 

“What, one missed roster and you’re already forgetting how cool I am, Abby?” Sydney jokes, and Alex cracks a smile as Abby rolls her eyes and Hope and Megan, now seated beside her, laugh eagerly along with her. 

 

“Oh no,” Abby says dryly, fiddling with the fork in front of her, “I wouldn’t dare, kid,” She finishes, and the subject, thankfully, drops. 

 

Later on though, Alex doesn’t miss the look Abby flashes her way when no one else is watching. She looks immediately down at her plate, like she wasn’t just staring at Tobin, and tries not to think too much of the sad look that enters Abby’s eyes. 

 

\---

 

It gets annoying when she realizes Tobin is deliberately ignoring her.

 

Like, completely on purpose. 

 

And she isn’t even trying to hide it. 

 

It’s really late at night the fourth day of camp and Alex’s stomach wakes her up aggressively. She slips out from under her covers and heads for the vending machine quietly, trying not to wake Megan in the process as she slips on her tennis shoes and heads down to the end of the hall. 

 

She’s just reached the vending machine when Tobin rounds the same corner, only half awake and almost completely hidden within the soft blue of her tarheel hoodie. 

 

It makes something within Alex’s chest throb, because it’s not exactly an unfamiliar sight. She’s woken up to the same look countless times, and it’s easy in that moment to put their relationship anywhere than where it currently is now. 

 

She stops on her way to the machine, freezes and waits for Tobin to catch up to her, because this is her chance, the moment she’s been waiting for. 

 

She can’t get a word out of her mouth before Tobin is already by her, dollar in hand and then inside the slot of the vending machine as she hums softly in deliberation over what to purchase.

 

Behind her, Alex fumes a little, not just because she’s been ignored, but because she was there first, and Tobin decides to buy the last brown cinnamon sugar poptart. 

 

She watches, still angry, as Tobin quickly punches in  _ A13  _ and looks on with growing anticipation for the ring to release her prize. 

 

Just before it gives way, the bright silver foil catches on the ring, and it gets stuck, swaying temptingly out of reach of the both of them, Tobin especially. 

 

They both stand in complete silence for a moment, until a soft  _ fuck  _ escapes Tobin’s clenched teeth, and well, then it’s just really awkward, but Alex can’t help the small, triumphant grin that graces her face for a moment, because however little, it feels a little like a victory to her. 

 

“I can—”

 

Alex doesn’t get a chance to complete her sentence, because Tobin just whips around, still humming, and walks off like she never had any intention to be there in the first place. 

 

“—fix it,” Alex finishes to no one.

 

It’s infuriating of course, and it’s only made worse when she takes out and reinserts the plug to the vending machine and watches the poptart fall the rest of the way into the bin below with a dull, unappealing thwack. 

 

Alex tries to list the positives of the situation, but comes across very little. 

 

At the very least, Tobin may not want to talk, but Alex now has her favorite snack.

 

She eats it before she gets back to her room.

 

Oddly enough, it doesn’t fill the emptiness inside of her.

 

\---

 

The rest of camp proceeds in a similar fashion. It’s three weeks of nothing from Tobin’s end and steadily growing sadness on Alex’s. The more time they spend apart, the more the looks from the others increase. 

 

At first things had been fine when Alex had found herself sitting by Sydney on the bus, and with Abby at meals, but the longer the avoidance between her and Tobin continued, the more everyone seemed to catch on. 

 

There’s no actual confrontation until one early morning when Alex heads down to breakfast and finds Abby sitting there already. She joins her readily, happy for the companionship, until Abby stops eating and starts speaking. 

 

“Something happened with you and Tobin,” She says, the statement simple, and it catches Alex so off guard she almost drops her plate in her haste to nervously laugh it off.

 

“What?” She asks, keeping her tone light, but Abby isn’t having it as she shakes her head firmly. 

 

“You know what I’m talking about. You guys were attached at the hip. Now Tobin won’t even make eye contact with you. Something happened.” 

 

It’s such a simple statement.  _ Something happened _ . Like they had lost something unimportant, something not worth the trouble of getting angry and getting hurt over. Alex wishes it was something so obsolete, but no matter what Tobin may pretend now, it’s not. 

 

She and Tobin were important. She still believes that above all else, still believes that there’s more to be had between the two of them than they’ve given. Maybe that’s half the problem with them, but regardless, she can’t change how she feels. 

 

Abby’s still expectant and waiting before her as Alex sits down and folds her hands carefully before staring down at them. 

 

“Yeah,” She says after a moment, “Yeah, something did happen.”

 

“Well, fix it,” Abby tells her, no nonsense. Alex just shakes her head, smiles sadly, bitterly. 

 

“I don’t know if this is one of those things you fix,” She admits, and there’s a sudden finality there that’s shocking. 

 

Abby laughs slightly, opens her hands up in confusion.

 

“Come on, what’d she do? Steal your pre-wrap? Take the window seat on the bus? Did the Tarheels beat the Cal-Bears recently?”

 

Alex tries to smile but ultimately can’t. Is that really how easy it had all once been? Had such trivial things ever plagued their relationship? 

 

Alex isn’t sure anymore. 

 

She looks up at Abby’s face, at the relaxed nature of it, and decides that they all have enough going on without adding her and Tobin’s emotional baggage to the mix.

 

She laughs along with her.

 

“Yeah. Something like that. We’ll get over it.”

 

\---

 

The only encounter that comes between her and Tobin is when she’s on her way back from the pool room and is answering a call from Servando. He’s been waiting for her to come back more or less since the day she arrived, and Alex is smiling and going along with everything he has to say until she hears the shuffling of feet behind her. 

 

She turns and it’s Tobin and she’s headed at her pretty quickly, eyes on hers, and the next thing Alex knows she’s hung up her phone and is closer to Tobin than she’s been in a long while. 

 

She’s clearly angry and a little sweaty. Some of her baby hairs stick to her forehead, and her chest rises and falls rapidly, like she’s been running for a long time. Her eyes are glaring, filled with heat, and it reflects off her honey eyes in a way that should tell Alex to stay away.

 

Alex is uncertain as she lowers her phone and fixes her with an uncertain eye.

 

“Have you decided to speak with me again?” Her question hangs loosely between them, unanswered for many moments until Tobin seems to gain control over herself.

 

“You’re with him again, aren’t you?” She demands, and it’s a question that Alex doesn’t expect as she takes a step backwards and narrows her eyes.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“That guy, from the wedding.  _ Servando _ . You’re with him again.”

 

At her words, Alex’s own heart rate starts to climb, because who the hell is she to ask such things, and how dare she dictate what is said between them and what isn’t. 

 

Tobin doesn’t even let her respond, just plows on through, one long, angry sentence after the other.

 

“Well that’s fine, because I’m with Laure now, you know? So like, I don’t even care about it. It doesn’t bother me one bit.” She tells her flat out and Alex frowns deeply, raises an eyebrow at her and leans closer.

 

“Are you on something right now?” She asks, and watches as Tobin’s face contorts in even greater displeasure, “Because that’s the only way I could justify any of your current actions,” She continues, gesturing vaguely towards her, “We haven’t spoken for months and this is how you decide to break the ice?”

 

She finishes and watches Tobin search for words, unable to truly find any, and then simply turns around with a shake of her head and heads back towards her room.

 

“You know what? Screw you Tobin.” She tells her as she goes, and then hears a heavy footfall as Tobin stumbles forwards a few steps.

 

“I don’t care about him or you!” She shouts after her, and Alex just rolls her eyes, jogs up the steps and shuts the door, cutting them off from each other, “I don’t care about anything at all!”

 

Her words almost stop her, because Alex has never heard her sound so haunted, not even the night of the World Cup, when Alex was pretty sure their world was coming to an end. 

 

Instead, before she can stop, her phone buzzes in her hand as Servando calls her once again.

 

She doesn’t turn back to Tobin. She keeps going, until her angry words and her hurt voice disappear behind the smooth, happy greetings of Servando.

 

\---

 

Three nights before they are set to leave they change roommates for a final time, and she and Lauren end up together again. It’s not an arrangement Alex minds, at least not at first. For a while Lauren’s good at avoiding any conversation involving Tobin. They talk about Alex’s new apartment in New York, about her plans after camp, and about Servando, who Lauren quickly grows excited over the more details Alex reveals. 

 

Of course, nothing ever tends to stay nice for long. She doesn’t know exactly what it is that makes Lauren open up, but one minute they’re talking about vacation destinations, and the next it’s suddenly all about Tobin. 

 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Lauren says randomly, almost out of the blue, and Alex sits up in her bed to flash her a curious, confused look. 

 

“Tobin. She isn’t avoiding you because she hates you. She’s scared,” Lauren continues, and her words make Alex’s head spin unpleasantly. 

 

“Why would she be scared?” Alex scoffs, because it makes no sense at all, because if anyone should be scared, it should be her and her alone. 

 

“I told her about Servando. I know you’d rather I didn’t but she needed a bit of a wake up call, and well, there’s really no other information that would do the job better than you moving on,” Lauren explains, and Alex closes her eyes and rolls onto the other side of the bed, facing away from her.

 

“Whatever. I really don’t care anymore, Cheney.”

 

Not even a moment goes by before Lauren responds, her voice much softer, a bit more subdued.

 

“I know. It’s just, sometimes it looks like you do, so I figured I’d tell you.”

 

Alex doesn’t have a response to that. She just curls her blanket up tighter around her, and the pair of them lay in silence for a long while, until Alex is just about sure Lauren’s asleep. 

 

Then something breaks within her, and likewise, she breaks the silence. 

 

“How did you do it?” She asks, filling the room with sound and jarring Lauren back into awareness.

 

“Do what?” Lauren murmurs groggily, rubbing tiredly at her eye as she sits up to get a better look at Alex’s still turned back.

 

“Forgive her. After she slept with Jrue,” Alex responds quietly, her voice just above a whisper, “How did you not hate her?”

 

She listens as Lauren takes a long, deep, tired breath, as the seconds stretch on and she continues to think over her answer.

 

“Cheney?”

 

“I’m thinking, Al. Hold on.”

 

Alex settles back down into her pillows to wait rather impatiently, her eyes gluing themselves to Lauren after she again fails to answer her. 

 

Eventually she gathers together what she wants to say. 

 

“I did hate Tobin. I hated her for a long time, even after Jrue and I finally got together. I thought I’d always hate her.”

 

“But you don’t,” Alex fills in quickly for her, and she watches as Lauren nods slowly.

 

“No. I love Tobin dearly.”

 

“How?” Alex demands, trying not to sound so bitter, but it doesn’t work, “She...she  _ betrayed  _ you. And she did it on purpose.”

 

There’s more silence as Alex’s chest starts to burn like it had the night she flew home from Germany, seated alone between two strangers by the wing of the plane, watching the city lights of Berlin fade between a thin strip of bright blue horizon and dark grey wingtip. 

 

“Tobin did the only thing she knew how to do,” Lauren stated then, after another pause, some more deliberation, “And I, after a long while, forgave her for it.”

 

Alex chuckles darkly, lowly in her throat.

 

“She only knows how to hurt people?” Alex asks, trying to keep her tone neutral, but it’s hard to hide her own wounds, and she feels that no matter how hard she tries, Lauren still sees through her to them. 

 

“She’s only ever been hurt by other people, actually. And when you get hurt that much, it gets a little instinctual to want others to feel the same way,” Lauren says simply. Alex just shakes her head, refusing to buy into it.

 

“I’ve never hurt her before,” She tells her, almost proudly, but Lauren just fixes her with a strong look.

 

“And that’s a lie, Alex. But don’t worry, you’re not the only one. Everyone in Tobin’s life has done their fair share of hurting her.”

 

“No one can be that hurt,” Alex says quickly, dismissive, and she doesn’t shrink away this time at Lauren’s gaze.

 

“Tobin is. I know it doesn’t always look it, but she really, truly is.”

 

Alex shakes her head, turns away again.

 

“I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe that you forgave her either.”

 

Lauren is quick with her response, almost overlapping her words.

 

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not. It’s the truth.”

 

The feeling in Alex’s chest begins to twist when Lauren finishes, changing from a creature of sadness into one of rage, of hurt, of disgust. 

 

“She broke your heart.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Alex’s eyes start to burn as well as she fights to keep her voice level.

 

“People don’t forgive when they get their hearts broken.”

 

When Alex looks up, Lauren is silent and watching, her lips pressed in a hard, thin line. 

 

“Tobin and I have learned a lot from each other, Alex. Forgiveness is one of the most important.”

 

“So you just  _ forgave _ all your hurt away?” Alex asks, and she doesn’t mean it to be so mocking, but that’s the way it sounds.

 

Lauren’s eyes get hard. 

 

“Tobin’s been more than just hurt, okay? She’s had a lot worse than a broken heart. She came to me, she apologized, and she explained. Her story isn’t pretty, Alex. It’s long, and drawn out, and painful, and it doesn’t have a happy ending yet. It might never. She needed someone like me more than I needed to hate her. So when she came to me, yes, I forgave her.”

 

Alex shrinks away, lets the silence creep back in much like cold frost on a winter morning. Lauren doesn’t lessen her gaze, and it makes her feel more awkward, more uncomfortable. Eventually Lauren takes a deep breath and leans against her pillows, relaxing. 

 

“I’m not saying that you should forgive her, Alex. I’m not saying that what happened to her is any excuse at all for what she did. But you asked me how I forgave her, and that’s how. Some people need forgiveness. Tobin’s one of them,” She hesitates for a moment after that, as if she almost doesn’t want to share the words she has left, “That’s why I think it might be for the best that you two ended things. And you’ll be happy with Servando. He isn’t a guy who needs a lot of forgiving.”

 

“Great,” Alex says dryly, her voice hollow, “Nice that we have that all sorted out.”

 

The silence is chilling this time as Lauren rolls over and shuts off her light, plunging the two of them into darkness and effectively ending the conversation. 

 

Alex almost lets it end, but she can’t quite do it just yet.

 

“Cheney?” She tries one last time.

 

“What?” Lauren snaps, and it’s almost enough to discourage her, to quiet her down, but she pushes on anyways, because that’s just who she is. 

 

“You said you learned a lot from her.”

 

“And?” Lauren sounds tired.

 

“What else did you learn?” Alex asks tentatively. 

 

“Not to assume,” Lauren allows, her voice careful.

 

“Assume what?”

 

“That people are okay.”

 

They leave it at that. 

 

For some reason, Alex has trouble falling asleep afterwards.  

 

\---

 

“Cheney?”

 

“Go to sleep, Alex.”

 

“She’s not with Laure, is she?”

 

At first, so much time goes by that Alex doesn’t think she’s going to get an answer.

 

Then, finally, she hears Cheney sigh softly.

 

“No, Al. She’s not.”

 

\---

 

The buildup to her move to New York is oddly painful. Servando doesn’t necessarily make it any easier on her. 

 

He speaks often of visits, a little too often. She supposes he doesn’t know any better. He’s still enjoying his final year with the Cal-Bears, so the professional life and scheduling is a bit lost on him. 

 

Alex doesn’t have the heart to tell him just yet that his trips will be far and few between, especially not with Tobin’s proximity to her still a sore spot between them. So she just smiles and nods and helps him plan what must be a hundred visits, and tries her best not to feel so wrong when he looks at her with glowing warmth and vivid hope and all she feels in return is impatience. 

 

The actual goodbye is rather sad. When he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, Alex knows she’s going to miss him. Servando has been everything to her this summer, and she’s confident she wouldn’t have made it without his constant, loyal, steadfast presence. 

 

She kisses him before he can pull away from her. It’s a long one, not necessarily gentle, but warm and genuine in a way they haven’t been in a while. 

 

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” She voices to him, honest, and when he lights up and smiles at her like she’s the only thing in this world that truly matters, she smiles back, because it feels good to be wanted in such a way. 

 

He’s slow to let her go in a way she’s familiar with, in a way that reminds her of Tobin as he holds tight to her hand until the last possible moment. 

 

“Nothing’s going to change, right?” He asks her nervously, when she’s got her bag on her shoulder and her ticket in her hand. She smiles as she carefully reclaims her hand and pats his shoulder once, fondly.

 

“Right,” She affirms.

 

She lets him go, walks to her gate, and gets on the plane that will take her east, so very far away from him, knowing that she’s told him a lie.

 

Try as she might to stop it, no matter what, one thing is certain.

 

Things always change. 

 

She knows this to be true when she lands and the first thing she sees when she leaves the arrivals gate is Tobin’s smiling face. 

 

She’s not there for her, of course. During Alex’s layover a number of new Sky Blue players had joined her at her terminal, so in truth Alex isn’t entirely surprised to see her. 

 

She is surprised, however, when before she can walk over to her own teammate, eagerly waiting to drive her home, Tobin steps out and blocks her path with a smaller smile and a careful hand.

 

“Welcome to New York,” she says, and then steps away just as quickly as she arrived to grab some of the many carry on bags of her Sky Blue teammates. 

 

Before Alex can even think to look for her again, she’s gone. 

 

The feeling she leaves behind within her lingers for much longer. 

\---

 

_ Serv: Getting on the plane. I'll be in New York in five hours :)  _

 

_ Delivered at 2:30 pm: Great!  _

 

_ Serv: Are you going to pick me up?  _

 

Alex feels her shame before she recognizes it as her cheeks fill with color. She's gotten used to people taking themselves to and from the airport, taking themselves to and from her life at their own ease. 

 

She's forgotten that not everyone is like that, has forgotten what it's like to be around someone 

 

that isn't constantly running. 

 

_ Delivered at 2:35 pm: Of course.  _

 

_ Serv: I'll see you soon then! I’ve missed you.  _

 

The moment Alex sends her response her stomach starts to sink, but it worsens the moment Servando sends his response. 

 

Alex looks up from the seat of her rental car and looks up at the giant house before her, at the large white trees that stand guard before it, and knows that she shouldn't be doing this. 

 

This is wrong. 

 

She should be back in New York, happily roaming the city with her teammates, waiting for Servando’s flight to get in so she can go and pick him up, so they can be together again after three months apart, after three months of soccer games and missed phone calls and skype dates and—and Tobin. 

 

She hasn't told him about Tobin. When her stomach clenches tighter, when her eyes travel back up to the giant, lit up house before her, she knows why. 

 

Servando had been very short with her when it came to the topic of the midfielder. 

 

“I just don't know how I feel, Al,” he had told her one night, his fingers working small circles against her scalp, steadily on their way to lulling her to sleep, “I don't like the idea of her being so close by for so long.”

 

“She's in New Jersey,” Alex had said immediately, eyes closed and relaxed, unbothered. 

 

“That's like, five minutes away,” he had responded, and she still doesn't understand why, but her response had been automatic. 

 

“Twenty minutes without traffic,” she had said, because it was the truth, because it was what Tobin had told her, and she had flushed angrily, had closed her eyes harder and had leaned further into Servando’s side, “it's not a big deal, Serv. She's only going to get as a close as I let her,” she said, and when Servando’s face had fallen to doubt, had quickly steeled herself.

 

“I'm not letting her close,” she had reminded him, and he had given into her, had nodded his head and closed his eyes and relaxed. 

 

Alex is pretty close now though. The only way to be closer to Tobin than her house is to be in her bed, and the thought puts a lump in her throat that's hard to swallow. 

 

A light turns off in the house and Alex shrinks down into her seat, terrified of being caught. 

 

She shouldn't be here. 

 

This is wrong. 

 

She's still there, though, which she still can't quite figure out how or why, although she's sure a lot of it has to do with last night. 

 

Sky Blue had come to Rochester and, after delivering to them a grueling defeat, some of the players had accompanied them around the city in the hopes of a good time. 

 

Alex hadn't thought much of it until one moment the space around her had been very Tobin free and then, in the next instance, was so utterly filled with her she didn't know where to turn. 

 

Tobin hadn't addressed her, hadn't even looked her way, instead choosing to stick close to her own teammates, but in the moments Alex wasn't staring at her, she felt Tobin’s eyes on her, returning the favor. 

 

It had been fine until they'd found themselves in a club, where Alex had a little too much to drink and was left a little too alone and with a little too much to prove. 

 

She had ended up dancing with some guy, who started off nice but became a bit too pushy and way too handsy, and when she had decided she was tired of dancing and tired of him, wouldn't let her go. 

 

And it's not that Alex couldn't handle herself. She totally could. It's just that she had been tired and drunk and alone, and when he had started pulling her away from everyone else, she hadn't really been able to plug two and two together very well in that moment, until his hand had become too hard at her waist and he had been pulling her out the door. 

 

There had been a hard hand that had stopped him, that had pulled her roughly from him, forcefully, and a fierce, cold voice that had flooded Alex’s ears. 

 

“What do you think you're doing?” It had asked, painstakingly familiar, and Alex’s stomach had dropped out from under her as she had turned and found Tobin, eyes burning and mouth twisted in an angry, bitter frown. 

 

“Oh, just taking my girlfriend home,” he had smiled, had reached back for her, but Tobin hadn't let him, had stood taller and moved closer, to hide more of Alex from him. 

 

“I know who her boyfriend is,” Tobin had said, her voice cold enough to make Alex shiver, “you're not him. Unless you want this entire club to know it, you'll leave right now.” 

 

He had left Alex after that, and then it had just been her and Tobin, the fire still thick in her gaze as she had regarded her. 

 

“You're okay, right?” She had asked briefly, impatiently, her voice gruff, and Alex had nodded quickly, numbly. 

 

“Good,” Tobin had said, had given her a soft push towards her teammates, “go back over to them. Have them take you home,” she had told her, and Alex had at first stumbled towards them, but had quickly stopped. 

 

Her drink had made her a bit too brave.

 

“I want to stay with you,” She had told her, because it had been the truth, because she felt so,  _ so  _ alone, but when Tobin was with her, everything felt alright. 

 

She had watched through drunken, swirling eyes as Tobin’s gaze had softened, if only for a moment. 

 

“Yeah,” she had breathed out, so quiet Alex thought she had imagined it, “Me too.”

 

Nothing further had happened. Tobin had successfully nudged her back over to her team, and they had taken her home, and Alex had gone to bed feeling very, very heavy. 

 

And now, the very next day, she’s outside Tobin’s house instead of on her way to the airport.

 

Because she loves her. 

 

Because she needs her. 

 

Because Alex needs to not feel alone.

 

Another light flickers on inside the house. 

 

This time, Alex opens her car door and steps out onto the walkway. 

  
  


\---

 

It's a bitterly cold summer night. That's what Alex remembers. The black of the sky stares down at them like glass containing as many faceted chips as there are stars, and the moon sits heavy over the bay, weighted, a great giant balancing act of a ball that dips between the line of the horizon and the strength of the sea. 

 

Tobin's silent beside her, but Alex can feel her eyes on her, watching her carefully, waiting. 

 

Alex doesn’t know what to say, or how to even start to address what lies between them. She hasn’t had a lot of preparation in her life to help explain how she has ended up on Tobin’s doorstep, and she doesn’t know a lot of appropriate words to make  _ I have no idea what I’m doing _ sound any better. 

 

And then there’s the more dangerous words that lie dormant on her tongue, just waiting, hoping for the chance to make themselves known. 

 

They’re words that say  _ I miss you _ , that say  _ I want you _ , that say  _ please love me, please love me, please love me _ , that say,  _ God dammit why couldn't you just love me? _

 

Alex swallows these words thickly before they can do any more damage onto what remains of her and Tobin. 

 

She only looks at her with fleeting eyes and quick glances, like a young child looking at the sun, attempting to be bold, only to have the undeniable brightness of the incomprehensible push her gaze away.

 

In the few moments she is able to regard Tobin, she looks different. There’s a sad twist to her tempered smile, a ghosting in the dark, hidden earth of her eyes. There’s always been a youth to her nature that has made her appear young in Alex’s eyes, younger than herself, younger than anyone Alex has ever met. She looks older now, though, like the twenty-four year old she is, not the wild, fiery eyed, over eager wanderer Alex had trusted her heart to.  

 

She looks weighted by something Alex can’t place. She’s not broken, but oddly submissive, surrendering, tired in a way she’s never seen before.

 

Alex would wonder on what has made her so tired, so worn, but she already knows. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Tobin finally asks, refusing to look at her, her eyes fixed solidly on the black waves of the water, “You shouldn’t be here.”

 

Alex shrinks into herself at the uncaring coldness in her voice. Tobin’s only ever given her warmth, and the uncomfortable agitation she now gives off in her presence fills her with even greater doubt. 

 

Alex doesn’t know how to answer her. What is she doing there? In an hour and a half, Servando is supposed to call her to pick him up at the airport. She’s supposed to be out with her teammates, lost to the streets of New York City, not sitting on the beach at Tobin’s house in New Jersey.

 

She’s not supposed to be anywhere near New Jersey. She’s not supposed to be anywhere near Tobin. 

 

And yet.

 

And  _ yet. _

 

“I just...wanted to see you.”

 

They both grow tense. Tobin goes first, her muscles tightening from the bottom up, until she sits leaning away from Alex, eyeing her carefully, rigid. Alex follows suit when she withdraws, pulls deeper into herself. 

 

“I didn’t want to see you.”

 

It’s a statement of finality, meant to push her away completely, to send her running, and it just about works until they both turn into each other and Alex sees what Tobin’s been so hell bent on hiding from her. 

 

There’s pain in her expression, pain in her eyes. Alex is blistering to her, burning, unwelcome, an old band-aid ripping open a freshly healed wound.

 

Alex isn’t surprised. All they do is hurt each other. 

 

“Tobin—.” Her voice is breathy, desperate, and it only floods Tobin’s gaze with more bitterness, with more loathing. 

 

“Get out.”

 

“Tobin, just talk to me—.”

 

“I said  _ get out _ , Alex,” She demands, standing up, moving away from Alex, leaving her on her own, and it terrifies her, gets her up on her feet as well, advancing. 

 

“Tobin, I—.” Alex makes the mistake of trying to grab her. Tobin jerks away like she’s burned her, stares at her with the same reproach of a cornered, injured, feral animal. 

 

“ _ No! _ ” 

 

They both freeze, and Alex backs off, the scene suddenly all too familiar. Tobin closes her eyes, takes a few deep breathes before her breathing gets away from her. 

 

“No,” She repeats again, with less intensity and a calmer element.

 

Alex doesn’t say anything this time, just watches, waiting for the frantic rise and fall of Tobin’s chest to even out, for the contraction of her hands to ease back down from clenched fists into open fingers. 

 

“I can’t do this again,” She tells her, and there’s a hitch to her voice that tells Alex she’s close to shattering, “I won’t. It’s not—it’s too much, Alex. It’s too much, and I’m too tired,” She breathes out from hunched shoulders, and Alex, for once, has no problem believing her. 

 

“But—.”

 

“No. No buts, Alex. We have to…” Tobin trails, meets her eyes, swallows uncomfortably, “We have to stop this. It’s not...good. We’re not good together. It’s too hard. It’s all too hard.”

 

Tobin’s words start to feel rehearsed, and Alex wonders how long this conversation has been coming, wonders why it feels so stinging when she’s known it’s been in the works for the past three months. 

 

Maybe it’s the way the moon shines off her eyes, or the way she looks at her for a minute like she did the first time, like she was someone not to be ignored, like she was someone who could be something big to her. 

 

It makes Alex not want to let go, and Tobin sees that as well. 

 

“Whatever you came here for, it’s not happening,” She tells her immediately, before Alex can so much as breathe, “It’s over Alex. It has to be,” She says, and then when Alex continues to do nothing but stare, repeats her words.

 

“It’s over.”

 

And just like that, there is an angry, fiery, blistering inferno that builds up hotly within Alex. It starts in her throat and spreads like wildfire, rapidly fanning out into her lungs and then down into the lining of her stomach, churning it violently, aggressively. It makes her fists clench, makes her heart beat erratically, out of control. 

 

_ No. _

 

She doesn't realize she's spoken the word aloud until Tobin draws back, double takes, and then comes much closer, examining her carefully. 

 

“No?” Tobin asks, her tone a suggestion, a warning to be careful of the line they tread. Alex can feel it, tangible between them in the way it tries to both hold her back and draw her in. She sees it in Tobin’s eyes as well, sees the way she burns with want and distaste simultaneously, sees the way she burns for  _ her _ . 

 

Alex crosses the line, and it disappears from them completely as she finds herself with Tobin's jaw in her hand, balanced firmly along her palm as her fingers close around her and pull her closer. 

 

Tobin’s a quick whirl of motion. Her hands effortlessly remember their way to Alex’s hips, and she tugs roughly against them until they press firmly into her own, Alex readily complying with the movement. Her hands move up after guiding Alex to her, one going to trace the smooth line of her chin, the other braiding itself into the back of Alex’s hair, giving her added leverage as Alex sways, drinking in her closeness. 

 

Tobin grips her solidly and draws her in, until she's resting on her shoulder, the familiar scent of sugar and mint flooding over Alex’s senses and drawing her tired eyelids down in hooded bliss. It feels like she takes her first real breath in a long time when Tobin’s stomach pushes out against hers and she, in turn, responds, her chest giving a great heave as she fills her lungs with air and her heart with Tobin. 

 

Her skin tingles excitedly where Tobin’s fingers trail, waking her up with a single long, languid touch. She feels like she's been sleeping until now and Tobin has finally startled her into awareness, like she's had her head underwater for a long while and has finally come back to the surface for new air. 

 

Her heart swells at their returned closeness, at this body pressed against her own that feels like home, that feels like it belongs with her, against her, next to her, and amidst the sweet sensations of their reunion, she pulls back to trail soft fingertips over Tobin’s jaw, leans in closer to fill the space between their lips, to let her know just how much she's missed her. 

 

She never gets the chance. Tobin forcibly parts the two of them the moment Alex advances, abandons her as her hands leave her waist and her shoulder stops supporting her, and then it's just the two of them staring at each other again, a world of distance between them once more. 

 

Alex can't remember a time where Tobin has rejected her. It starts feelings of frustration, of anger, and they swirl about with untempered fire in the pit of her stomach, wild and reaching in the way they cry out for her to return.

 

Tobin takes more steadying breaths across from her, uses the distance to better clear her head as Alex shakes before her, from her own sadness, her own shortcomings, and from the wreck that their relationship has become. 

 

“No,” Tobin says again, a soft, careful reminder. Her eyes are gentle as they watch Alex, wide and adoring and so very withdrawn. 

 

Alex shakes her head angrily at the word, refusing it. 

 

“You don’t mean that,” Alex tells her, attempting to be bold, hating the softness of Tobin, who has apparently given up on her, on them.

 

“I do, Alex. And you...you should too.” 

 

Alex’s head whips back and forth before she can stop it, and she takes a step forward that Tobin immediately mirrors in the opposite direction. It's an odd difference. Tobin's always been the one backing Alex up, but not anymore. 

 

“No,” Alex finally says, but not in the context that Tobin desires to hear, “no. I just want you, Tobin. I don't care about anything else. I don't care about whatever you did with Laure, or with Casey, or whatever happened before me, I just—.”

 

Something within Tobin snaps. 

 

“But you should!” She yells, and Alex feels small as she stumbles backwards, unappreciative of the loudness, off guard, “dammit Alex, that's half the problem right there!” She continues, the same bite to her words.

 

Alex bristles.

 

“In case you forgot, I’m not the one in the wrong here,” She snaps, angry, but Tobin doesn’t falter in response, if anything her eyes burn brighter, and with greater disgust.

 

“In case you forgot,” Tobin repeats, her voice mocking, “ _ I’m  _ not the one who fucking  _ left _ while you were  _ sleeping _ .”

 

The fire starts to burn hot at Tobin’s accusations, like Alex somehow wasn’t justified in her actions, like  _ she  _ is the reason everything is falling apart around them. 

 

“Well I wouldn’t have had to leave if you hadn’t been kissing other girls,” Alex says quickly, before she loses her nerve in the face of Tobin’s angry, bitter hate, “And you would have been awake if you hadn’t been drunk out of your mind.”

 

She watches as Tobin tenses, as her hands clench and her jaw tightens and she backs away, distancing herself. 

 

“You know what? I’m done Alex,” She says, and she laughs once, hard and without humor, raises her hands in surrender, “I’m done.”

 

It’s that admission that pushes Alex over the edge, and she finds warmth pushing up against the backs of her eyes that quickly trickles down onto her cheeks. 

 

“Tobin,” her voice is a whimper, a begging, pleading cry as she attempts to follow after her, “Tobin  _ please _ . I—” there's a soft hesitancy, a brief note of uncertainty before her resolve hardens, “I love you.” 

 

Tobin laughs again bitterly, runs an uncomfortable hand through her hair. 

 

“How can you?” Her words are sharp, “you don't even know me.” 

 

Alex's mouth drops open in immediate complaint. 

 

“I  _ do _ know you. I know everything,” she insists, but Tobin just laughs again and shakes her head, filled with disbelief. 

 

“Stop lying. You can't know anything when I've never told you,” Tobin says, dismissive, and Alex heart swells again, but for the wrong reasons. 

 

“I know that I want you. All the time,” she rasps, and she watches with satisfaction as Tobin’s eyes darken, as she swallows nervously, as her fingers curl. 

 

“That's not love,” she tells her, and it's a bit of a slap in the face to Alex as her own irritation begins to bleed through. 

 

“And what do you know about love, Tobin Heath? What great, enlightened ideals could you possibly have about it?” She demands, her hurt raw and unconcealed. 

 

Tobin takes a moment to compose herself, to think carefully. 

 

“I know it's not supposed to feel like this.”

 

“Like what?” 

 

“Like I'm losing.”

 

Her words don't make sense to Alex. They pile up annoyingly in her mind and sit heavily there, like great weights. 

 

“Losing  _ what _ _?”_ She demands, because Tobin loves to talk in circles, and it makes Alex so very fatigued when she does. 

 

“Losing  _ everything _ ,” Tobin says, and it's a soft, sad, small declaration. 

 

Alex is only quiet for a few moments. 

 

“That's the biggest bullshit I've ever heard.” She tells her, without forgiveness in her tone. 

 

Tobin just shrugs her shoulders, looks down at her feet. 

 

“It's true, though. All this time I’ve been chasing things, chasing you, for the wrong reasons.”

 

“Chasing me?” Alex scoffs, “Tobin, all you ever do is run away.”

 

There’s a long silence that stretches between them at Alex’s words, and in the spaces of quiet, Tobin’s face changes for the first time into one of genuine hurt. 

 

“And I'm tired of it,” Tobin finally admits, softly, like even she can’t believe it herself, “ I don't want to do it anymore. I want to be…free. I've never been free before,” Tobin says, and Alex fights to keep her eyes from rolling.

 

“You're not going to be free. You're just going to be lonely,” She tells her, and it's the first time Tobin laughs in a genuine, surprised manner. 

 

“Better free and lonely than endlessly running and lost.”

 

There’s more quiet as Alex begins to feel her defeat. Her shoulders slump wearily, and she lowers her head, feeling small, alone.

 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

 

Tobin shakes her head and comes closer, not stopping until Alex reaches up a hand to keep them apart. Her hand moves up to join Alex’s on her chest, to press it deep into her skin, until Alex feels the cadence of her heart against her palm. 

 

“You’ll never lose me. You’ve got me. Right here, always” she says, but Alex shakes her head and drops her hand. 

 

“You never stay,” she tells her, softly, until she backs away again. 

 

“I'm not ready to be stay, Alex. I might never be,” she says, and then hesitates for a long moment, “you should be with someone who is.”

 

There's a long moment of simple looking, of stark blue meeting dark brown, of trembling lips and beating hearts, of Alex begging her to stay over and over again, and of Tobin, over and over again, telling her no. 

 

Then it's over. Just like that. 

 

“So this is it, then. This is the end,” Alex says, surprisingly calm in the statement. Tobin shuffles around before her, smiles gently. 

 

“Yeah. Maybe. For now,” Tobin responds. 

 

Alex can't really help the tears that build up and break over her eyes after that. It's a bitterly sad admission, one that signifies the end. Tobin comes close to her again, because it's been two years of them until now and she still can't quite stomach the view of Alex crying. 

 

She pulls her in tightly, holds her up firmly when it feels like she's caving in. 

 

“Hey, hey,” Tobin coos, attempting to be comforting, “this isn't goodbye forever. We’re still going to see each other. We’re still going to be teammates, friends even. Eventually,” she says, and it shouldn't be comforting, but oddly enough it is. 

 

“I...I'm still going to love you, you know. That's not going to just go away,” Alex admits, and there's a brief moment of hesitancy, of Tobin tightening her arms around her, keeping her close like she used to. 

 

She pulls back for a brief moment, then leans in impossibly close, presses a featherlight kiss to her lips before tucking her back into a hug. 

 

“ _ Good _ ,” Tobin says. 

 

And that's it. 

 

They stay in each other's arms for a while after that, until the overwhelming darkness of the night doesn't seem so black and hopeless, until the lights on the shore of New Jersey reach a crescendo of burning brightness. 

 

Until Alex's phone rings, and a sleepy, happy Servando is on the other end, asking where she is. 

 

Then they let go. 

 

-To Be Continued-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions and reactions taken at professional-danish.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Questions and reactions will be taken at professional-danish.tumblr.com


End file.
